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4 



OVER HERE 

A Drama of American Patriotism 
In Three Acts 



By 
WALTER BEN HARE 

Author of more than one hundred plays, including : 
"A Couple of Million," "Professor Pepp," "A Pageant of 
History," "The Hoodoo," "Much Ado About Betty," 
"Teddy," "The Heiress Hiaiters," "The Scout- 
master," "The Camp Fire Girls," "The Boy 
Scouts," " l^ie Dutch Detective," "Isos- 
celes," "Twelve Old Maids," etc. 



NOTE 

The acting rights of this play are strictly reserved. Perform- 
ance may be given by amateurs on payment to the author of a 
royalty often dollars (^lo.oo). Correspondence on this subject 
should be addressed to Walter H. Baker & Co., 5 Hamilton 
Place, Boston, Mass. The professional stage rights are also 
strictly reserved, and performance by professional actors, given 
in advertised places of amusement and for profit, is forbidden. 
Persons who may wish to produce this play publicly and pro- 
fessionally should apply to the author in care of the publishers. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 
1919 



OVER HERE.'b^^ 



^^ ^^ 

CHARACTERS 

[Names are printed in the order of their appearance. ") 

J. B. Wheedon. 

Comrade Ferguson, a veteran of the Civil War. 

Judge Gary. 

Miss Em Finch. 

Miss Loknie Davis, the milliner. 

Dan Monihan. 

Tommy Cronin. 

Lizzie. 

Frederick J. Eckert. 

Mrs. Cronin. 

Celia Baker. 

A Child. 

Corporal Shannon. 

Villagers and Band. 

SYNOPSIS 

Act I. — The village square at River Landing, Mo. The day 
they heard the news. 

Act II. — Same scene as Act I. The day the boys marched 
away. 

Act III. — Sitting-room in Eckert's house. The night the spy 
came home. 

" Lives there a man with soul so dead 
Who never to himself hath said — 
This is my own, my native land ! " 




Copyright, 1919, by Walter Ben Hare 
As author and proprietor. 

All rights reserved. 

©CI.D 50969 

JAN -9 1919 



COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 

J. B. Wheedon. a small-town business man of about thirty- 
five. He is dogmatic and inclined to argue. His big patriotic 
scene with Eckert in the first act must be thoroughly rehearsed 
and especial attention given to the proper emphasis. In the 
original cast of the play this character was played by a small man 
witii light hair, mustache and eye-glasses. Carelessly dressed. 
This role must be played in deadly earnest ; any attempts at 
comedy will ruin the effect. 

Comrade Ferguson. A Civil War veteran aged about eighty. 
Veteran's uniform, if possible, but this is not necessary. Could 
be played either as a veteran of the North or a veteran of the 
South. Wears a badge. White wig and beard. Large heavy 
cane. Slightly palsied. This is a character part of great impor- 
tance and must be thoroughly rehearsed in impersonating an aged 
man. Pay careful attention to the emotional scenes in Acts I and 
H. The " drum scene " never fails to bring applause, if properly 
played. Wear shoes suitable to the character. Neat costume. 

Judge Gary. Prosperous city lawyer. Rather short in speech, 
but thoroughly human at all times. Aged about fifty-five. Iron 
gray hair. This role should be played by a middle-aged attorney, 
if possible. Stylishly dressed. The recruiting address at the end 
of Act I should be carefully rehearsed and the part must be 
learned letter perfect. Care must be taken in his entrance in Act 
III not to allow the audience to recognize his personality. This is 
necessary to preserve the air of mystery and to key the audience 
to the climax of the play. 

Miss Em Finch. An old maid housekeeper, aged about forty- 
four. A strong emotional role and in stock productions always 
played by the leading woman of the company. Naturally she is 
timid and kind, but when spurred on by patriotism she shows the 
qualities of a born leader. The author has noted her clianges of 
tone, etc., in the text and the role must be carefully studied. This 
role was originally played by Helen O'Neill who costumed it in a 
simple black dress, old-fashioned and rather short, rough looking 
shoes, a small old gray shawl, cheap black hat. gray hair. She 
wore an apron in the last act. When the play is produced by 
amateurs it is desirable to have this role played by a middle-aged 
woman, if possible. 

Miss Lornie Davis. The comedienne of the play. Aged 
about forty. Costumes, accessories and make-up should indicate 
giddy girlhood. Do not wear the traditional old-maid stage cos- 



4 COSTUMES^AND CHARACTERISTICS 

tume, but rather costume the part in a caricature of the latest 
style, made up in cheap materials. Much jewelry is worn. The 
part " plays itself" and there is no need to resort to any low 
comedy tricks to impress the audience. Play it true to life and 
with sincerity. Three changes of costume are recommended. Do 
not speak the lines too fast ; allow the audience to absorb the comic 
points before hurrying to the next speech. 

Dan Monihan. Star role. A boy crook, aged nineteen. The 
part, while not at all difficult, offers a great opportunity to impress 
the audience. Albert Terhune, who originated the role, wore 
light tan shoes, low-cuts with large knobby toes, white socks, 
rather tight gray trousers, a black jersey, gray coat and cap. A 
careful study of the lines and business will make the character 
clear. Remember that Dan affects an air of indifference when 
others are present. Only in the last act is his emotional nature 
apparent, except in his soliloquy and his scene with Eckert in Act 
I. The competency of the actor assuming this role may be 
gauged by his ability to show the inception and growth of a love 
for his country ranging from hatred to passionate declaration. 

Tommy Cronin. A small-town clerk, aged about eighteen. 
Play the part sincerely and dress it naturally. No low comedy 
methods are permissible, nor any absurd costume effects. He 
may wear a neat red wig, with reddened eyebrows, but this is not 
necessary. Don't speak the lines too rapidly and make the proper 
pauses after punctuation points. Do not run the sentences to- 
gether ; give the audience time to absorb the speeches. 

Lizzie. A country hired girl, aged fifteen. Dress the part 
naturally and do not make a caricature of it. Cheap, ill-fitting 
clothes, countrified hat with elastic under chin, rough shoes, striped 
stockings, etc., are permissible. Skirts, ankle length. Hair may 
be worn down in curls if desired. 

Eckert. A chunky villain, aged fifty. Gray hair and mus- 
tache turned up at ends. Well dressed, easy going and prosper- 
ous. Do not speak with a German accent, except the slight 
idioms called for in the text. This role is a very difficult one and 
needs careful rehearsing, especially the scenes with Dan. Much 
care should be exercised in casting this part, as the success of the 
entire play depends almost entirely upon Eckert. 

Mrs. Cronin. A motherly old lady with white hair, spectacles 
and wrinkled face. Wear black dress and widow's cap. 

Celia Baker. A sweet, well-educated young school-teacher. 
Neat costumes. In Acts II and III she wears the coif of a Red 
Cross nurse. 

A Child. A little girl or boy about seven. Rehearse the part 
until the child is perfectly natural in lines and action. Any self- 
assertion, or child elocution stunts, will rum the climax of the 
first act. 

Corporal Shannon. A big, rough, virile soldier dressed in a 
corporal's uniform. Study the lines as written, take plenty of time 



SCENIC EFFECTS 



for the bashful business, pay attention to punctuation, making the 
correct pauses with each change of subject, and this part, while 
somewhat brief, will shine out as one of the best in the play. 



SCENIC EFFECTS 

For large stages : Use street or landscape back drop. Set 
house up L. Wood wings at R. and down L. As many set trees 
and grass mats as possible. Park benches down R. and down L. 
Beds of red geraniums in R. and L. corners add to the effect ; have 
the pots covered with foliage. For the third act a simple interior 
with entrances R. , L. and C. is all that is needed. 

For small stages : The set house may be omitted and scenery 
may be entirely dispensed with if necessary. In this case make a 
wall of brick tissue-paper, such as is for sale at Christmas, and 
have two or three trees nailed to stage for Act I. Scatter foliage 
and leaves over the stage. Screens may be used for the third act 
to good advantage. 



PLEASE NOTICE 

The acting rights of this play are strictly reserved. Perform- 
ance may be given by amateurs on payment of a royalty of ten 
dollars (^lo.oo) for each performance. Correspondence on this 
subject should be addressed to the publishers. 'Wi^ professional 
stage rights are also strictly reserved, and performance by pro- 
fessional actors, given in advertised places of amusement and for 
profit, is forbidden. Persons who may wish to produce this play 
publicly and professionally should apply to the author in care of 
the publishers. 



Attention is called to the penalties provided by the Copyright 
Law of the United States of America in force July I, 1909, for 
any infringement of his rights, as follows : 

Sec. 28. That any person who wilfully and for profit shall infringe any 
Copyright secured by this Act, or who shall knowingly and wilfully aid 
or abet such infringement, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and 
upon conviction thereof shall be punished by imprisonment for not ex- 
ceeding one year or by a fine of not less than one hundred dollars, or both, 
at the discretion of the court. 

Sbc. 29. That any person who, with fraudulent intent, shall insert or 
impress any notice of Copyright required by this Act, or words of the 
same purport, in or upon any uncopyrightcd article, or with fraudulent in- 
tent shall remove or alter the copyright notice upon any article duly copy- 
righted shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, punishable by a fine of not less 
than one hundred dollars and not more than one thousand dollars. 



OVER HERE 



ACT I 

SCENE. — The public square in front of the post-office, 
River Landing, Missouri. Post-office exterior up l. 
Park benches down l. and down r. For detailed ex- 
planation of the stage setting see " Scenic Effects " in 
the Introduction. 

{Discovered, Comrade Ferguson and J. B. Wiieedon 
seated on the bench at r., in earnest conversation.) 

J. B. W. I've been a Republican ever since I v^as 
born, and my father and grandfather were ones before 
me, and if we Americans get mixed up in this European 
war — well, it won't be the Republicans that got us in it. 

Com. There's no use trying to argue with you, J. B. 
If we enter this war it'll be as a united people; Demo- 
crats, Republicans, Socialists, the rich, the poor, the 
white, the black, all of us will stand shoulder to shoulder 
with party lines and creeds and colors all forgot, with 
only one thought in mind, " America, with the help of 
God, will do her duty." 

J. B. W. But Wilson was elected President on just 
one platform. Comrade Ferguson, just one! And what 
was it? It was to keep us out of war. 

Enter Judge Gary from post-office. He comes down l. 

Gary. Good-morning, Comrade Ferguson. Good- 
morning, J. B. Taking a little morning constitutional 
here on the public square? 

7 



8 OVER HERE 

Com, Yes, Judge; it's a fine morning for April. 

J. B. W. Now, I'll leave it to the Judge here. He's 
a city man, and he knows how they feel about it up in 
St. Louis. Ain't I right, Judge? Wasn't the President 
elected just because he promised to keep us out of war? 

Gary. I believe that was the slogan of the party. 
We're neutral just now, J. B., and if any man on earth 
can keep us out of war and still preserve our national 
honor, that man is (raises hat) Woodrow Wilson. 

Com. (rises tremblingly to his feet and salutes the 
Judge). You're right, Judge. I'm for him now, I've 
always been for him, and I always will be. (Sloivly and 
with simple eloquence.) He's my President, and I'm 
going to trust in his wisdom. (Resumes his seat.) 

J. B. W. (after a slight pause). So am I, if he keeps 
us out of war. 

Enter Miss Em Finch from the post-office. She carries 
a basket on her arm and starts to exit at rear R., hut 
pauses listening to the Judge's next speech. 

Gary. I fear the thing has gone too far for that 
now, J. B. War seems inevitable. We can never hope 
to have peace in the world, now or at any time, unless 
we help to put down — and keep down — any nation that 
allows the slaughter of innocent women and children. 

J. B. W. I know all that, but it looks like he could 
use some more arbitration. 

Gary (seriously). The time for arbitration has 
passed. On the second of April our President made an 
address to Congress that clearly stated his opinion. I 
have it here. (Takes clipping from zvallet, puts on 
spectacles.) I'll read the closing paragraph to you, 
J. B., then you'll understand the high ideals held by 
Woodrow Wilson. (Reads.) "There are, it may be, 
many months of fiery trial and sacrifice ahead of us. It 
is a fearful thing to lead this great peaceful people into 
war, into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars, 
civilization itself seeming to be in the balance. But the 
right is more precious than peace." 

Com. Do you hear that, J. B.? The right is more 
precious than peace. That means that there are some 



OVER HERE 9 

things worse'n war, dishonor and disgrace. The right is 
more precious than peace. 

Gary (reads). "And we shall fight for the things 
which we have always carried nearest our hearts, — for 
democracy, for the rights of those who submit to au- 
thority to have a voice in their own governments " 

J. B. W. That means giving every man a vote. I'm 
in favor of that. I'm beginning to understand it better 
now. 

(Positions: J. B. W. and Com. seated on bench at r., 
J. B. W. nearer the r. Gary standing l. c. Miss 
Em at rear c. unobserved.) 

Gary (continuing). " — for the rights and liberties 
of small nations, for a universal dominion of right by 
such a concert of free people as shall bring peace and 
safety to all nations and make the world itself at last 
free." 

Com. (much moved). It's wonderful, wonderful. 
That's what our United States is standin' for — to bring 
peace and safety to all nations, and to make the world 
itself at last free. 

Gary (reading), "To such a task we can dedicate 
our lives and our fortunes, everything that we are and 
everything that we have, with the pride of those who 
know that the day has come when America is privileged 
• to spend her blood and her might for the principles that 
gave her birth and happiness and the peace which she has 
treasured. God helping her, she can do no other." 

(During this speech Miss Em has been drawn almost 
involuntarily toward the center of the stage, listening 
with rapt attention to the reading.) 

Com. If that is his message it can have but one 
meaning. 

Gary. It means war. 

J. B. W. Mebbe not. Mebbe they can settle it by 
arbitration. His platform was " I kept you out of war," 
now let's see if he can stick to it. Let him write some 
more notes to 'em. Arbitration and peace notes'll do the 
business. (Rises and stands at r.) 



10 * OVER HERE 

Miss Em (takes a step forzvard, half faces J. B. W. 
and speaks indignantly). Arbitration and peace notes? 
No, this is no time for arbitration and peace notes. 
Didn't they sink the Lusitania with all those innocent 
women and children on it? Haven't they fired on our 
American boys and insulted the American flag? Things 
like those can never be settled by arbitration. What did 
the President say? We've got to make the world safe 
for the people. It ain't safe now, but we've got to make 
it safe. Our people have been long-suffering and slow 
to anger, but in the sinking of that boat they went too 
far. Are we going to stand back like cowards and let 
'em run rough-shod over us, or are we going to strike 
for the honor of our flag and the defense of our women 
and our children? 

J. B. W. But, Miss Em, you don't understand. The 
word arbitration 

Miss Em. The word arbitration is dead ; we gave 'em 
peace notes and they insulted us for our pains ; we gave 
'em arbitration and they killed our women and children 
on the Lusitania. (Loudly.) Now, we'll give 'em war! 

Com. (rises and comes toward her). Why, Miss Em, 
I don't hardly recognize you. I never heard you act 
thisaway before. It's a fearful, awful thing war is. 
Don't I know? I was in the Civil War from start to 
finish. I saw men die by hundreds, by thousands. War 
is heart-breaking. Miss Em; there ain't anything as ter- 
rible on earth. 

Miss Em. Yes, there is. Comrade Eerguson; dis- 
grace is more terrible. Acting the coward is more ter- 
rible. (Changes her tone.) Oh, don't I know all about 
the horrors of war, doesn't every woman know its heart- 
breaks and cruelty? You all know my story. Every- 
thing we had was swept away in the Civil War; my 
father was wounded and his father and three brothers 
fell at Gettysburg. Only common soldiers they were, 
but they gave themselves up for their country. And 
when the Spanish-American war broke out in '98 I was 
all ready to be married, but John went. And I was 
proud of him as he marched away. I gave him up will- 
ingly — for my country. He was all I had, and he never 



OVER HERE 11 

came back, (proitdly) but it was for my country. Nearly 
twenty years ago, but I remember it like it was yester- 
day. The boys marching right through the square here 
and then over the hill to the depot. He looked back and 
waved his hand (brokenly) and — I never saw him again. 
He didn't talk of arbitration. His country called and 
he answered it. And now, when the safety of the whole 
world is at stake they talk of peace notes and arbitration. 
Peace? There can be no peace until the enemy is 
crushed — beaten down and crushed to the earth. 

Com. Why, Miss Em, I don't hardly know you, you're 
so fierce. 

Miss Em. I hardly know meself. I guess my feel- 
ings got the better of me. Sometimes I feel just like I 
was a living, acting part of this great nation of ours, not 
poor Em Finch an old-maid housekeeper in River Land- 
ing working for fifteen dollars a month. (Changes tone 
to one of despair.) And I can't do a thing for my 
country. Oh, if I'd only had a son, if I had five sons, 
I'd give them all, all, with joy and pride in my heart, to 
fight for my country. 

Gary (goes to her and shakes hands with her). Miss 
Finch, I'm proud to know you. Your patriotism does 
you much credit. 

Miss Em. Oh, Judge, you do me proud, sir. 

Enter Lornie Davis from the post-office. She comes 
dozvn L., meeting Miss Em, who crosses to her. 
Gary crosses and joins Com. and J. B. W. and they 
stroll to upper r. corner engaged in pantomimic 
conversation. 

Lorn, (down l.). Oh, Miss Em, I been lookin' every- 
where for you. Which way you headed ? 

Miss Em. I just started for the grocery. The train 
isn't in yet. 

Lorn. No, ain't it exasperating? I'm looking for a 
piece of music in from Chicago. It's been nearly two 
weeks a-comin', and it ain't here yet. I was hopin' to 
sing it at church Easter and that'll only gimme to-day 
and to-morrow to practice it. An' if it don't get in 
this morning I'll have to oblige with sump'm old. But 



12 ^ OVER HERE 

I'm goin' to have the cutest Easter hat ever seen in 
River Landing. I got it off'n a drummer, right out o' 
stock. It's awful chick. 

Miss Em. Chick? 

Lorn. Yes, that's French fer cute. All us milliners 
say chick when we want to make an impression. You 
ought to see the hat I sold Sadie Mcjimpsey this morn- 
ing, a kind of a fadey green trimmed with marigolds. 
She was tellin' me she got a letter from her sister Stell 
in Milwaukee. She's had the most awful thing happen 
to her. A regular scandal with her name in the paper 
and everything. 

Miss Em. You don't say! 

Lorn. Yes. She was a hired girl in a man's house 
and he turned out to be a German spy. Ain't that 
scandalous? The poor thing is mortified most to death. 
They arrested him quicker'n scat, but I'll bet poor Stell 
won't never live down the disgrace till her dyin' day. 

Miss Em. Why, it w-asn't her fault, was it? 

Lorn. No, of course not. But she was kinder mixed 
up in it, her bein' his wife's hired girl. They sent him 
to the Federal Penitentiary and it all come out in the 
papers, mentionin' Stell's name and everything. Ain't 
it awful? Them spies is just all over the country. 
(Primly.) 'Twouldn't surprise me none if we didn't 
have some of 'em right here in River Landing. 

Enter Dan'Monihan from r. u. e. diirhig the preceding 
speech. He slinks to the door of the post-office 
slowly, looking furtively around at the characters 
on the stage. He enters on zvords " TJiem spies is 
just all over the country," and it must be made evi- 
dent to the audience that he is a spy. This musf be 
done by his mannerisms of appearing lazy and bored, 
but sharp glances from the corner of his eye, slink- 
ing manner, etc., convey the impression desired. 
The other characters on the stage pay no attention 
to him. 

Miss Em. There's no telling, Lornie. It seems like 
they're just everywhere. I haven't the least doubt but 



OVER HERE I3 

they're responsible for all this trouble down along the 
Mexican border. 

Lorn. Ain't it awful? It makes me so nervous, Miss 
Em, that I know I'd just die if I thought one of 'em was 
spy in' on me. I'll walk as fur as the store with you. 
{They start toward r. u. e., but pause a little in c.) 
Who's that man over there? {Indicates Gary.) He's a 
stranger in town and he looks kind o' suspicious. {Draws 
Miss Em a little to l. and speaks in subdued tone.) Do 
you reckon he's a German man ? 

Miss Em. Why, Lornie, don't you know Judge Gary? 
He's a United States district judge appointed by the 
President. It's part of his business to run down spies. 

Lorn, {excitedly). Then that's what he's a-doin' 
here. Ain't it scandalous ? He must know there's some 
of 'em right here in River Landing. Who do you reckon 
it is? 

Miss Em. Nonsense, Lornie, the judge is here on a 
vacation. His folks used to live here years ago. They 
owned the old Saterlee place. He hasn't been back in 
twenty years ; he said it was the first vacation he'd had in 
all that time. {They move tozvard r. u. e. ) 

Lorn. He's a right nice lookin' man, ain't he? He 
can't be a day over fifty-five. I wonder if he's married. 

Miss Em. Oh, yes. His wife and children are at 
home up in St. Louis. He told me all about 'em. You 
see, he used to be right friendly with John. 

Lorn. John? John who? 

Miss Em. The man I was going to marry, Lornie. 

Lorn. Oh ! {Looks at Gary.) I'd kind o' like to be 
introduced to him. 

Miss Em. I'll make you acquainted with him now. 

Lorn. Massy sakes, no ! With me lookin' like this, 
and him from St. Louis? Wait till this afternoon when 
I'm more becomingly becostumed. So he's a United 
States judge, is he? Well, if there are any spies down 
here, I certainly hope he'll catch 'em and hang 'em 
higher 'n hallelujah. All this war talk's got me so 
nervous! {They move toward r. u. e.) I've got to 
hurry home now and practice my scales, so as to be ready 
fer Easter. I'm goin' to wear my new charmooz, if it 



14 OVER HERE 

don't rain. J wonder if they've got any new phonograph 
records at the grocery store ? 

[Exits R. u. E., still talking to Miss Em. 

J. B. W. {standing with Gary and Com. down r.). 
Well, as I was sayin', I'm a Republican born and a 
Republican bred, but I'm an American first of all, by 
heck. 

Gary. That's the kind of talk I like to hear, Wheedon. 
The President has given us orders to close the ranks. 

J. B. W. Close the ranks? What does he mean close 
the ranks? 

Com. He means that we've all got to git together, 
J. B. We've got to forgit all our little troubles and our 
differences in the face of a common danger. We've 
got to git together, and stand together shoulder to 
shoulder. We've got to close the ranks. 

(Dan Monihan slinks slowly over to the group at r.) 

Dan (with an unlighted cigarette in his hand). Ex- 
cuse me, mister, c'n you gimme the loan of a match ? 

Gary (hands him small box of matches). There 
you are, sir. 

Dan (lights cigarette). Much obliged. 

(Returns box and crosses back to the door of the 
post-office.) 

Gary (to J. B. W.). Who is that young fellow? 

J. B. W. Stranger in town, I reckon. I never saw 
him before. 

Com. I got to go over to the grocery store. Got to 
git a nickel's worth o' cut plug. Goin' over, Judge? 

Gary. Yes, we can pick out some new fishing tackle. 
Coming, J. B. ? 

J. B. W. I'll be along pretty soon. I want to wait 
for the mail. 

Com. Still like to fish, do you, Judge? 

Gary. I certainly do. I suppose the old fishing hole 
is just as good as ever. 

Com. (as they cross to r. u. e.). No, I don't reckon 
it is. The fish don't seem to bite like they did twenty er 
thirty years ago. [Exit r. u. e zvith Gary. 



OVER HERE I5 

Dan (has crossed to r. c. during the preceding speech). 
Say, can you gimme another match? I can't keep this 
thing Ht. 

J. B. W. {searching his pockets). I don't beUeve I've 
got one. 

Dan (draivling the first zvord). All right. 

{Strolls into the post-office.) 

(J. B. W. sits on bench at r. and reads nezvspaper. 
Enter Tommy Cronin from r. u. e., whistling a 
popidar air; he crosses to the door of the post-office 
and is about to enter when he apparently sees some 
one off stage at l. i e. He smiles bashfidly, indi- 
cates that it is his " girl," ivaves hand at her, pauses, 
waves more vigorously, finally whistles loudly 
* through his fingers, pauses again, waves hand again 
and beckons her to join him. He crosses dozvn to 
L. I E. J. B. W. starts at the whistle, sees the cause, 
frozvns, turns his back on Tommy and reads paper. 
Enter from l. i e. Lizzie Brown, carrying a 
clothes-wringer. ) 

Ciz. (stands at l. i e., looks at Tommy bashfidly, then 
ttwsts bashfidly azvay from him). Hello! 

Tom. Hello! (Pause.) 

Liz. I didn't know you'd be down-town. Why 
ain't you a-workin' ? 

Tom. Oh, 'catfSe. 

Liz. 'Cause why? 

Tom. 'Cause I seen you go past the store. (Giggles.) 

Liz. Aw, now you go on ! ( Giggles. ) 

Tom. Where you goin'? 

Liz. Pust-office. 

Tom. Mail ain't in yet. Let's walk down to the 
depot. 

Liz. (with closed lips signifying " no "). Um-umph ! 

Tom. Why not? 

Liz. Miz Doolittle sent me over to Mandy Pellenses 
to borry the clothes-wringer, but I ain't a-goin' to be 
seen walkin' through town with it. 



l6 ' • OVER HERE 

Tom. I'll carry it fer you. 

Liz. It's awful heavy. 

Tom. {disdainfully). Humph, I c'd carry it on one 
finger. 

(Takes it, then offers his left arm to her.) 

"Liz. Aw, some'n'll see us. 

Tom. What d' you care? We're engaged, ain't we? 

Liz. Kinder. 

Tom. {takes her arm). Well, I don't care who knows 
it. 

Liz. Maw won't lemme announce my engagement till 
I'm seventeen anyhow. 

Tom. Well, that's only 'bout a year to wait. 

{They move toward r. u. e. ) * 

Liz. They're goin' to have a movin' picture show at 
the opery house Saturday night, I hear. 

Tom. Yup, so I hear. Costs two bits a ticket, too. 
Wanter go? 

Liz. (with closed lips signifying assent). Um-umph ! 

Tom. Here's a stick o' gum. Lickerish. I saved it 
fer you. 

Liz. Much obliged. [They exeunt at r. u. e. 

Enter Frederick Eckert from the post-office. He 
comes down c. 

EcK. Well, how is everything, Wheedon? Pretty 
bad, yes? 

J. B. W. I dunno whether you'd call it bad er good. 

EcK. Anything late come in by telegraph? 

J. B. W. A couple of wires this morning. It's all 
one kind of news. 

EcK. (anxiously). Meaning war? 

J. B. W. War"! 

"Eck. {paces stage from c. to l. and back again). 
There must be some way out of it. This is horrible. . 

J. B. W. (rises). It was bound to come. 



OVER HERE 1/ 

EcK. {pacing). It's upset me, completely upset me. 
I hardly know which way to turn. 

J. B. W. Turn the right way. 

EcK. What do you mean the right way? 

J. B. W. There's only one course for a decent Amer- 
ican to take. 

EcK. Oh, you only see your own side. 

J. B. W. What do you see? 

EcK. I see this great, good country, always friendly 
with Germany, filled with thousands and thousands of 
good loyal German-Americans like yourself, I see it torn 
from end to end with dissention and distrust. 

J. B. W. (hotly). You mean 

EcK. (hastily). Oh, I'm for my country, of course. 
That comes first. I'm naturalized and just as loyal an 
American as any one, but I'm not in favor of war, if it 
can be avoided. 

J. B. W. It can't be. 

EcK. Surely you are not for war? No, no, im- 
possible ! 

J. B. W. It's the only course. 

EcK. That is pure savagery — barbarism. 

J. B. W. Well, if it's savage to fight when every 
national right has been violated, then I'm a savage. But 
Fm an American savage, and not a German savage. 

EcK. (after a slight pause). But your father and 
mother, both Germans — — 

J. B. W. No, they are no longer German, they are 
American. For fifty years the United States has given 
them a good living, a home, protection. Shall they turn 
their back on it when trouble comes ? No, sir, the motto 
of the Wheedon family is not Deutschland Ueber Alles, it 
is (raises hat) America Comes First ! 

EcK. (sneers). Very patriotic. But this break with 
the Fatherland must be averted if possible. We must 
appeal to Washington. We must protest against this 
war. And our protests will come in such great numbers 
that that weak demagogue — — 

J. B. W. (furiously). Stop! (Pauses and then 
speaks tensely.) Are you speaking of the President of 
the United States? 



l8 OVER HERE 

EcK. {confidentially). Oh, only between ourselves. 
We're old friends, Wheedon, you and I ; you know what 
I think and I know what you think. 

(Dan appears in the door of the post-office, unseen by 
the actors.) 

J. B. W. You might think you do, but maybe I've 
changed my mind. 

EcK. {sneers). Since when have you swung around 
to the Schoolmaster? 

J. B. W. {tensely). Since he gave the order to close 
the ranks. 

EcK. {after slight pause). We must remain neutral. 
Yes, yes, neutrality must be our vs^atchword. 

J. B. W. No, not neutrality, justice and democracy! 

EcK. And this from you, a German- American ? 

J. B. W. No longer a German-American, Eckert, 
just a plain American ! I've cut out the hyphen. 
{Crosses to r. u. e., turns to Eck. ) I won't argue with 
you any longer, but listen to me, you'd better be a little 
less free with your speech, Eckert, or people are liable 
to talk. [Exits R. u. e. 

EcK. {crosses to r.). Yes, he's right. I must be 
more prudent. 

(Dan, with another unlighted cigarette in his hand, 
slouches down to Eck. at r. c.) 

Dan. Excuse me, mister, could you give me a match ? 

Eck. {starts, looks at Dan sharply, pauses a moment, 
then speaks naturally). A match? What do you want 
with a match? 

Dan {starts, showing the audience that the passzvord 
has been answered; then he looks sharply at Eck.). I 
was thinking about starting a little fire. 

Eck. {smiles, realising that Dan is a spy). Oh, for 
your cigarette, yes? 

Dan. No! {Tosses cigarette azvay, moves closer to 
Eck., and speaks confidentially, but distinctly.) Fer 
sump'm bigger'n my cigarette. 



OVER HERE 19 

EcK. What are you going to set on fire? 

Dan. a sky-rocket. {Slight pause.) One that can 
be seen clear over the Rhine. 

EcK. {cautiously looks around). I understand. We 
are alone. {Stands at attention, speaks in a tone of 
command. ) Your name and number ! 

Dan {slouching as usual). Dan Monihan, Chicago, 
one ten. 

EcK. I am F. J. Eckert, Missouri, twelve. Who sent 
you ? 

Dan. The Professor. Number One, Chicago. 

EcK. And you have some instructions? Yes? 

Dan. To come here, meet Number Twelve of Mis- 
souri, and report to him for active service. 

EcK. Maybe you've got something for me? Yes? 

Dan. Yeah, I got it all right. 

EcK. Ah, ha, maybe a little package, eh? And you 
brought it all safe? 

Dan. It ain't a package ; it's a fountain pen. 

EcK. Ah, ha ! A fountain pen, eh ? That's clever. 
Number One, the Herr Professor, is a very clever man. 
Brains? Colossal! Such a safe way to send it. In a 
fountain pen. 

Dan {takes pen carefidly from inside pocket). I 
dunno what it is, but you'll find it's all right. I didn't 
even jar it. I carried it like soup. 

EcK. Soup ? 

Dan. Yeah, nitro-glycerine, wot they use on safes. 
If it's that — one httle jar and blooey! Good-night! 

{With a gesture signifying annihilation.) 

EcK. Oh, it's not nitro. No, no, my lad. But there 
are other things, maybe, more deadly than nitro-glycerine, 
yes? 

Dan. Well, there it is. Now gimme a receipt fer it. 

EcK. A receipt? 

Dan. Sure, I gotta have sump'm to show. 

EcK. Very good. {JVrites.) "Received of Dan 
Monihan one fountain pen apparently in good order. 
Signed, F. J. Eckert." 

Dan. Okeh. 



20 OVER HERE 

EcK. So, you don't trust me, eh? 

Dan (sneers). Trust you? Say, I don't trust no- 
body. 

EcK. Very well. Prudence is a good quality. I 
don't trust many people myself. There is your receipt. 

(Hands him leaf from note-hook.) 

Dan. And there's the fountain pen. 

EcK. (takes pen eagerly and fondles it). Ah, ha, only 
a little fountain pen, eh? (Unscrews top and examines 
the interior of the pen.) It's all right. Everything is 
all right. (Replaces top.) It's only a little medicine, 
that is all. A gift from my friend, the Herr Professor. 
(Smiles.) Such a little thing it is, but so important, so 
important ! 

Dan. It ain't nothin' to me what it is. I did what 
they told me to, that's all. Anything else you want me 
to do? 

EcK. Indeed, yes. There is more to do, much more. 
You know what your orders are, yes? You understand 
that you are to be under my charge for some time? 

Dan. Yeah, dat's what Number One said. He told 
me to bring your report back with me. 

EcK. It will be ready for him, maybe in two or three 
weeks. 

Dan (astonished). Two or three weeks? Say, you 
ain't goin' to bury me here in this burg that long, are 
you? 

EcK. (seriously). For this work that we now do 
have I buried myself here for five years. I have a good 
business here, the largest mill in this part of the State. 
The same powerful hand that released you from your 
American prison has made me a profitable business here 
in River Landing. It is best that you should be here with 
me for some time. I will give you a job in the mill. 
Let me see ! Your name is Monihan, yes ? 

Dan. Dat's it, dey call me Slink. 

EcK. German ? 

Dan. Who, me? Naw, nothin' like it. 

EcK. Irish, maybe? 



OVER HERE 21 

Dan. Naw, jes' plain Chicago. 

FxK. Oh, an American? 

Dan. No, I ain't no American either. I ain't 
nothin'. 

EcK. But you were born in America? 

Dan. Sure. And I was beat and kicked and treated 
Hke a dog all my life in America. When I was six dey 
sent me up to the Reform School. I ran away and got 
caught. They kep' me till I was sixteen, ten years 
behind the stone walls, and then they lemme go. But 
bein' out was worse'n in the stir. I couldn't go straight. 
They wouldn't no one gimme a chance. So I went 
crooked. Then they began to hunt me like a rat. I 
had to live under the docks and only go out at night. 
{Brokenly.) Then — they caught me — they beat me — 
with an iron bar — they {Breaks dozvn and sobs pas- 
sionately.) Oh, I hate 'em, I hate 'em. Gawd, how I 
hate 'em. They gimme a five year stretch fer crackin' a 
crib, and me only a kid. 

EcK. Five years for burglary, eh? {Sympathet- 
ically.) Too bad; so that's how your America has used 
you, eh? But my friend, Number One, the Herr Pro- 
fessor, he helped you out, yes ? 

Dan. Yeah, he helped me. He was white all right, 
aces high. Ed been behind the bars fer nineteen months, 
and Ed 'a' been there three years more, if it hadn't 'a' 
been fer him. He pulled the wires in Chicago and got 
me out. Den he sent me down here to you and said 
you'd treat me square. Well, whatcha want me to do? 
Em ready. You're the bogs. 

EcK. So all your life they've been persecuting you, 
eh? These good, just Americans! They caged you up 
like a rat in their prison, they took away your clothes 
and gave you stripes, they took away your freedom and 
gave you iron bars, they took away your name and gave 
you a number, they mistreated you — they beat you — and 
all for what? That their American sense of justice 
might be satisfied. That's what did it, that flag. (Points 
to flag over the post-office.) And it belongs to you. It's 
the flag of your country. 

Dan {passionately). It ain't, it ain't, I tell you! I 



21 OVER HERE 

ain't got no flag, I ain't got no country. Think I'm goin* 
to claim a country that's treated me worse'n a dog? My 
flag? No, it ain't my flag. I ain't got no flag. 

EcK. {nibs hands gleefully). No flag, eh? Well, 
what if I was to give you a flag? That isn't the only 
flag, is it? (Takes folded white handkerchief from in- 
side pocket and hands it to Dan.) There, look at that. 

Dan. What is it? This ain't a flag. 

EcK. Just to look at it so and it means nothing. But 
hold it up to the sun once. (Dan complies.) Ah, ha — 
now what do you see? 

Dan. I see an eagle. An eagle with two heads. 
What does it mean? Is it a flag? 

EcK. What you see is the imperial emblem of Prus- 
sia. Now it is your emblem. Take it for your own and 
keep it always next to your heart. If trouble comes, 
show it to a friend. If he is wise he will hold it to the 
sun and then will recognize you as a brother. For we 
are all brothers, bound together in a great and dangerous 
undertaking. You are one of us. You are on our side, 
on the side of right and Kultur. Even now the United 
States is on the verge of declaring war. Let them ! It 
will mean danger and work for us, but victory will follow. 
Kultur will rule the world. 

Dan. I dunno nothin' about that, boss. But I'm 
with you and I'll stick like glue. I'll do what you tell 
me to. 

EcK. Then we will work together, work against a 
common enemy. 

Dan. What do you mean by an enemy? 

EcK. The American nation is your enemy— your 
enemy and mine ! They robbed you of your liberty, 
they hounded you into prison. But they shall pay ! The 
day shall come when we will have the power, and then 
America shall pay, and pay. They shall bleed until 
there is no America left. Grrr ! Then shall you be 
avenged for your life in prison, for your misery and 
your beatings. Their day will pass, our day will come ! 

Dan. I'll do my share. Slink Monihan never goes 
back on his friends. But I gotta know all about it. All, 
mind you ! from deuce to ace. 



OVER HERE 23 

EcK. And so you shall, in good time. But we must 
not be seen together. This is a small town and people 
are apt to talk. This afternoon you come to the office 
of my mill and ask me for a job. I will give it to you, 
and after that all will be easy. 

Dan. But where'll I get a place to eat? I ain't used 
to these small town jays. 

EcK. Maybe I can fix that up too. You might live 
at my own house. My housekeeper is a good woman. 
Sh, some one is coming. 

Enter Miss Em and Lorn, from r. u. e. talking in 
pantomime. 

Dan {assuming the role of a stranger). Mister, when 
does the mail get in this town anyway? Every day er 
only once a month? 

EcK. It will be here presently. Miss Em! (Miss 
Em comes to him.) This young man is a stranger in 
town. I have given him a place at the mill and I thought 
that maybe I could take him to board. He could have 
the little room up-stairs. 

Miss Em,. Yes, sir. Only I'll have to air it out. 

EcK. {to Dan). Well, that's settled then. Be at the 
mill at two o'clock sharp. There's plenty of work to do. 

Dan. Yes, sir. 

Lorn, {comes dozvn to r. of Eck.). Oh, Mr. Eckert, 
do you think there's any German spies in this town? 

Eck. {starts). German spies, Miss Davis? 

Lorn. Yes. Miss Em was jest tellin' me that Judge 
Gary is a United States district judge and that part of 
his business is to git after German spies. And he's been 
here two days. Ain't it terrible? There must be some 
of them spies right here in River Landing. It makes me 
so nervous. 

Eck. Nonsense, Miss Davis, I'm sure that's all talk. 
The judge is here on a vacation. He told me so him- 
self. There are no spies around here. 

Lorn. Well, you certainly do make me feel relieved. 
I wouldn't sleep a wink at night, if I thought any one was 
spyin' around this town. The war is bad enough but 
spies would be perfectly scandalous. 



24 . OVER HERE 

EcK. Bah, that is all gossip, Miss Davis. Why 
should any one want to spy on River Landing? 

Lorn. Well, you never can tell. The women down 
at the Belgium Relief Sewing Society say they are all 
over the country. 

EcK. By the way. Miss Davis, I've been hearing 
scandalous reports about this Belgium Relief Society. 

Lorn. You have? My gracious, ain't that awful? 
What are they? 

EcK. They say that the committee in New York 
takes out all the best clothing collected and sells it and 
pockets the money. Of course, I don't know, I'm only 
saying what I heard. 

Lorn. Do you mean that they sell all these nice 
things we collect for the starving Belgiums? 

EcK. That's what I saw in the paper. 

Lorn. My, my, ain't that scandalous? Well, I'm 
done. I won't collect another article. Why should we 
work our heads off down here in Missouri to help make 
them New Yorkers rich? I'd think they'd be ashamed 
of themselves. Stealing from the poor Belgiums. 

EcK. Miss Em, you bring the mail over to the office. 
Monihan, I'll see you at two o'clock. Remember what I 
told you, Miss Davis, there are no German spies in 
Missouri and you'd better watch the doings of the New 
York Belgium Relief Society. One can't be too careful. 
(Crosses to r. u. e.) That society is all a fraud any- 
way. [Exits R. U. E. 

Lorn. Now, Miss Em, what do you think of that? 
You always have been so active in collecting things. 
Ain't it awful? 

Miss Em. I don't beHeve a word of it. 

Lorn, {scandalised). Don't believe it? Don't you 
believe your boss? There ain't a nicer man in River 
Landing than Mr. Eckert, him being so pleasant and 
patriotic. It's a wonder he don't get married with his 
mill and all his money and land. But that 'ud throw 
you out of a job, wouldn't it? 

Miss Em. I'm thinking of getting a new position any- 
way, Lornie. I'd like to be a Red Cross nurse. 

Lorn. So would I. I'd just love to wear one of 



OVER HERE 25 

them costumes and nurse a wounded soldier boy back to 
life. That's a good idea, Miss Em. I think I orter be a 
nurse. Paw always said I was sich a comfort to him 
when he was down with plumbago. You know I can 
sing and play on the mouth harp. I think I'd be real 
handy as a nurse. {They enter the post-office.) 

Dan {at rear). Gee, these country dames is funny. 
She'd make a swell nurse, she would. One look at her 
and the patient would give up all hope forever. 

Enter Tom. from r. u. e. 

Tom. Say, have you seen anything of Judge Gary? 

Dan. I don't know him. I'm a stranger in town. 

Tom, Well, if you see him tell him to come over to 
the telegraph office right away. There's a telegram just 
come in fer him. 

Enter J. B. W. from r. u. e. 

J. B. W. Is the train in yet. Tommy? 

Tom. No, I ain't heard the whistle. Say, Mr. 
Wheedon, have you seen anything of Judge Gary? 
There's a telegram over at the office for him. 

J. B. W. Yes, he's down at the store. 

Tom. Then I gotta find him. It's awful important. 

(Starts out r. u. e. ) 

J. B. W. Wait a minute, I'll go with you. 

{Follozvs him out.) 

Dan. Gee, a telegram makes about as much excite- 
ment in this jay burg as a run on the bank. And the 
boss said I'd have to stay two or three weeks. Gee, I 
wisht I was back in Chicago. 

(Sits on bench down i..; reads the "Police Gazette.") 

Enter Mrs. Cronin and Celia Baker from r. u. e. 

Mrs. C. Did you say the train was in, Celia? 
Celia. Yes, Mrs. Cronin. It's been in two or three 
minutes. 



26 • OVER HERE 

Mrs. C. Then the mail ought to be up pretty soon. 

{They start toward the post-office.) 

Enter a Child from r. u. e. She runs to Celia. 

Child. Teacher, can I go with you to get the mail? 
Celia. Certainly, come along, Sadie. They're prob- 
ably putting it in the boxes now. 

( The sound of a bugle is heard in the distance blowing 
the reveille. All pause and look off r. u. e. ) 

Mrs. C. What's that? 

(The sound of distant cheering is heard.) 

Child. Teacher, what is it? A perade er what? 
Celia. I don't know, dear. 

Mrs. C. It sounds like the call to arms. I ain't heard 
anything like that in River Landing for years. 

(Bugle blozus call to arms. Enter Miss Em and Lorn. 
from post-office, Eck. and Tom. from r. u. e. ) 

Lorn, (conies dozun l. with Miss Em). What they 
blowing the bugle for? It's got everybody all excited, 
and it makes me so nervous ! 

■ Miss Eai. They must have had some news down at 
the telegraph office. It's Comrade Ferguson blowing his 
war bugle. Do you suppose we've declared war? 

(Men, women and children enter and crozvd the stage 
at R. This is very important, and a large crozvd 
adds to the general effect of the scene. Every extra 
person must be well trained and thoroughly rehearsed 
in this scene. J. B. W. and Gary cjiter with the 
crozvd and move down r. Gary has a telegram in 
his hand.) 

Eck. (at r. c). What is it, Wheedon? What does 
that btigle mean? 

Gary (down r.). It means, sir, that the United 
States has awakened at last. War has been declared. 

All (excited). War? 



OVER HERE 2"] 

{Cheers arc heard in distance, folloivcd by the long 
roll of the drum. Cheers are heard closer. All on 
stage hold tableau looking off at r. u. e. Dan, 
alone, remains iinconccrned.) 

Gary. The news has just come over the wire. Con- 
gress has passed the bill. Our days of neutrality are 
over. We are in a state of war with Germany. 

Lorn. Ain't that awful? And on Good Friday, too. 
Looks like they might have waited until after Easter. 
This'll make me so nervous I know I can't sing a note. 

(Nobody pays any attention to her; all are talking in 
pantomime among themselves. Com. enters from 
R. u. E. followed by a crowd of boy scouts. Com. 
carries a bugle. He comes dozvn r. c. Tom. joins 
Mrs. C. and Celia dotvn l. c. Liz. enters r. u. e.) 

Tom. Mom, folks from the country are beginning to 
come in. Flivvers and barebacked. They've unhitched 
the horses from the plows to ride in to hear the news. 
And it means war. 

Liz. Oh, Tom, will you have to go? Are you goin' 
to war? 

Mrs. C. Is he goin'? Honey, he wouldn't be a 
Cronin if he didn't. 

Tom. You bet Fm goin'. 

Mrs. C. Yes, and he's all I got left to me now. My 
baby ! And he's going to war. 

Tom. You wouldn't want me to be a coward, mom, 
would you? 

Mrs. C. No, boy, Fm proud of you, proud of you, 
that you want to do your bit for your country and your 
flag! 

Com. It's jest like the days of '6i. I was blowin' the 
old bugle jest like I used to do in the army. 

J. B, W. Read us the telegram. Judge. 

All. Yes, read us. Let us hear the news, 

Gary. It's very short, but to the point. 

Voice {in rear). Louder! Git up on the bench! 

Gary (mounts bench at r.). I'll read it to you. 
(Reads telegram.) " Congress declares war on Ger- 



28 OVER HERE 

many. Our regular army and national guard must be 
filled to war strength. We depend on River Landing 
to do its share. Open enlistment in all branches o-f 
service. More later." That is the message. It is from 
the governor of the state and he calls on River Landing 
to do its share. 

Com. And River Landing will obey. 

J. B. W. You bet ! 

(All cheer.) 

Gary. My friends, you have heard the brief message. 
It is only a few words, but those words will make history 
in this community. It is our call. The call of the Stars 
and Stripes. A call to the young manhood of this vil- 
lage to offer themselves to fight for their country, and 
w^e are ready. To a man we stand behind the President 
in this hour of national peril. 

All. Yes, yes ! 

Gary. This is a peculiar nation. It is made up of 
many peoples, of many races, but one thought welds 
them together as a solid mass, one idea dominates our 
republic, and that is freedom— the democracy of man- 
kind. That's what that flag (points to flag on post- 
office building) stands for and that is what our nation 
stands for. Freedom and democracy. Every man here 
this morning, you and you and you (pointing to men in 
the crowd, he points to Dan on the last " you ") love and 
honor that flag as you love and honor your country. 
" Breathes there a man with soul so dead who never to 
himself hath said — This is my own, my native land ! " 
No, down deep in your hearts you know that you are 
first of all Americans. This is your own, your native 
land. And now is your chance to show your colors. 
Will they be the black that portends the doom of Ger- 
many, with a streak of yellow? Or will they be the Red, 
the White and the Blue ! Answer me, under which flag 
will you serve? 

J. B. W. Under the Star-Spangled Banner. 

(All cheer.) 



OVER HERE 29 

Gary. We want you all ; men, women and children 
all have their duty to perform. We count on your 
loyalty. This is no time for copperheads, slackers or 
soft-pedalists. If there be any such among us it is our 
duty to drive them away and brand them as traitors. 
Your country has called you, men of River Landing, 
what shall be your answer? 

J. B. W. Put me down. Judge. I'll enlist. My 
father and mother fled from Germany to escape the iron 
heel, but I'm ready and willing to light for freedom. 

(All cheer.) . 

Tom. Put me down. A true Irishman never yet 
refused a fight. 

(All cheer.) 

Gary. That's the talk. Boys, don't wait for the 
draft — your President has called for volunteers. Like 
our fathers of old our eyes have seen the glory of the 
coming of the Lord. His soul is marching on. Now I 
want all those who are willing to come to the office across 
the square and sign the muster roll. Follow on, follow 
on, for your country and your country's flag. 

(Descends from bench.) 

(The women and children begin to sing the chorus of 
" The Battle Hymn of the Republic." The men 
cheer and join in the singing. They form in line 
and all, save Dan, march off at r. u. e. singing and 
cheering. The singing is heard off stage, the singers 
starting the first verse after the opening chorus. 
The singing continues far away in the distance until 
the end of the act.) 

Dan. They're fools. Goin' to light fer their country 
and their country's flag, eh ? Not me. (Pauses, crosses 
to c, looking after the crowd.) That fellow made a 
good speech all right. What did he say? (Pauses, 
thinking of the words; speaks slozvly.) " Lives there a 
man with soul so dead who never to himself hath said. 
This is my own, my native land ! " (Pauses, then repeats 



30 ■ OVER HERE 

slozvly. ) My own, my native land ! Pshaw, it's only 
words — it don't mean nothin'. And yet — (pause) and 
yet, this is my own, my native land! 

Enter Child from r. u. e. carrying small flag. 

Child. Come on, mister; let's you and me go over 
and see 'em march. 

(Takes his hand and looks up into his face in a trust- 
ing manner.) 

Dan (draws back). Naw, I can't go. I don' wan'a. 

#HiLD. Why not? They all got flags and everything. 

Dan (with significant emphasis) . That's the reason. 
You see I ain't got no country er nuthin'. I ain't even 
got a flag. 

Child. You ain't? Wait, I'll give you my flag. 
(Hands it to him.) Now you gotta flag and everything. 
Come on ! 

(She leads him out at r. u. e. walking very slowly.) 



CURTAIN 



ACT II 

SCENE. — Same as Act I, hut about three zveeks later. 
Time, an afternoon in May. 

(Discovered, Mrs. C, Liz. and Tom. seated on bench 
down R. Tom. is seated between the ladies and has 
a sack of bananas. All are eating bananas. Celia 
is seated on bench down l. earnestly conversing in 
pantomime with a young man. A young husband 
and wife, leading two small children, walk across 
stage at rear talking earnestly. The action through- 
out this scene must be serious and subdued. The 
boys are going to war and their kin-folks feel the 
gravity of the situation.) 

Mrs. C. It was just three weeks ago that our country 
declared war, and to-day you're leaving. Why, you ain't 
learned how to drill or how to hold a musket or any- 
thing. 

Tom. We'll get all that at camp, mom. Gee, I tell 
you, little old River Landing ought to be proud of her- 
self to-day. Just think, over fifty men have volunteered 
and we're going to have a special car and everything. 

Mrs. C. How long before it'll leave, son? 

Tom. {looks at wrist watch). In about forty minutes, 

(A young man and an old man enter r. u. e., meet the 
young husband and wife at rear and stand talking 
to them in pantomime.) 

Liz. Maybe the train'll be late er sump'm like that. 

Tom. Nope, there ain't a chance. A government 
train is never late. That's one of the first things they 
teach us in the army, to be on time. 

Liz. You wasn't on time when you said you'd meet 
me at the store last night at seven o'clock. 

31 



32 



OVER HERE 



Tom. Well, that's different. Meetin' a girl ain't army- 
work, is it? 

{The group at the rear stroll out r. u. e. Enter from 
L. I E. J. B. W. leading an old gentleman and an 
old lady. They walk very slowly toward r. u. e. 
and talk in pantomime.) 

'Liz. It's just as important, anyhow. Your last night 
in River Landing, too. 

J. B. W. {at c). All ready to leave, are you, Tommy? 

Tom. You bet, ready and rarin' to go. Been gittin' 
ready sence five o'clock this morning. 

J. B. W. {to his companions). Now we'll walk over 
to the recruiting office. I want you to meet the corporal. 
The government sent him all the way down from St. 
Louis to escort us to Washington Barracks. Pretty fine, 
ain't it? 

{They stroll out at r. u. e., followed by Celia and 
her escort.) 

Mrs. C. {crying a little). Tommy, boy, you'll take 
care of yourself, won't you? 

Tom. You bet I will, mom. You needn't a-worry 
about that. 

Mrs. C. But you're so careless sometimes. {To 
Liz. ) You dunno how careless he is. Why, nearly every 
night I have to come in and tuck him up, he gets so 
restless. {To Tom.) I hope they'll have feather beds 
and plenty of blankets and good comforts and quilts at 
the camp. And I put the hot-water bottle in the bottom 
of your grip. 

Tom. Oh, I'll be all right. The corporal says they 
treat you fine at the cantonment. 

Mrs. C. It's forty minutes till train time. I think 
I'll go home a little while and see if there's anything I 
forgot. {Rises.) It won't take me long. 

{Crosses to l. i e., looks back at Tom., who is talking 
to Liz., sighs and exits l. i e.) 

Liz. I thought your mom said she was goin' home. 



OVER HERE 33 

Tom. Ain't she? 

Liz. {points). She went that way. I know where 
she went. She's goin' to stop in at the church, she is, 
and say a prayer for your safety, Tommy. 

Tom. (softly). Yes, that's just Hke mom. That's 
just what she's goin' to do. 

Liz. (begins to cry a little). Oh, Tommy, this goin' 
away to war is jest awful. Suppose you should get 
wounded, or killed, or sump'm. (Cries louder.) Oh, 
Tommy, don't go ! Tell 'em we're goin' to git married, 
and stay at home. Jest suppose you'd get blowed into 
pieces, er get shot or get hit by a air-ship, er sump'm. 

Tom. There, there, Lizzie, there ain't nothin' like that 
goin' to happen. At least, not if I c'n help it. 

Liz. (still crying and eating banana at same time). 
Goin' way over there across the ocean full of them 
U-boats and everything. 

Tom. Don't you worry, honey, they ain't goin' to get 
me. And think of the time we'll have when I get back, 
a major er a captain er sump'm like that. Three er four 
hundred a month. Gee, I c'n hardly wait till I git mixed 
up in it. The very first Dutchman I capture, I'll cut 
all his buttons off and send 'em to you fer a souvenir. 

Liz. (brightening). Will you? 

Tom. Cross my heart. I'll send you some from every 
one I capture, and you'll have enough to trim two or 
three dresses all over. 

Liz. Oh, Tommy, how can you be so brave and 
everything when you're goin' to leave so soon? 

Tom. What do you vrant me to do, cry? 

Liz. No, but you ain't showin' sentiment enough. 
You're goin' to be a hero and yet you don't act like they 
do in the moving pictures. 

Tom. Mebbe I don't, but I feel it just the same. 

Liz. (her mouth fidl of banana). Maybe I won't 
never see you again. Tommy. (Cries.) Wouldn't that 
be cruel? 

Tom. You wouldn't want me to stay at home and be 
a slacker, would you ? 

Liz. No, I wouldn't. I'm proud of you. Jest as 
proud as any one. If you hadn't 'a' enlisted I'd never 



34 OVER HERE 

held up my head on high again in River Landing as long 
as I lived. 

Tom. Now don't forget what you promised. You 
gotta write to me heaps and heaps. 

Liz. (crying). Oh, I will; I will, 

Tom. You know it'll be awful lonesome there in the 
camp. And then when we get over in France it'll be 
worse'n ever. 

Liz. There's lots of girls over there in France. I 
hear they're awful fascinatin' to the soldiers. Oh, 
Tommy, you won't fall fer any of them French girls, 
will you? 

Tom. Who, me? Well, I should say not. That is, 
if you promise to write every day. 

Liz. Oh, I will. Honest I will, and Fll never let 
another' feller look at me, till you get back. Not even 
if he is a general. 

Tom. (has arm on back of bench, now slips it around 
Liz. ) . Honey ! 

Enter Lorn, and Miss Em from r. u. e. Tom. and 'Liz. 
rise in confusion and walk hurriedly out at l. i e. 

Lorn. Oh, ain't that awful ? He had his arm around 
her. 

Miss Em. He's going off to the camp this afternoon, 
and Fve heard that they're just the same as engaged. 

Lorn. And he called her honey. Right in daylight 
in the public square. Ain't that awful? 

Miss Em. Lornie, we shouldn't have hurried in like 
we did. Maybe it was her last chance to tell him good- 
bye. Fve got a lot of sympathy for young folks, espe- 
cially when they're goin' away to war. 

Lorn. Yes, but it don't seem modest right out here 
in plain view. And they're so young, too. Ain't it 
awful ? 

Miss Em. They've got long years ahead of 'em, 
Lornie, with maybe plenty of sorrow and trouble, so let 
'em be happy while they can. 

Lorn. It'll be awful lonesome here in River Landing 
with all of our young men gone to war. It'll be real 



OVER HERE 35 

pathetical fer us girls, all by ourselves. There certainly 
is a lot of folks in town to see 'em off. 

Miss Em. Ain't there ? It's too bad Mr. Eckert didn't 
get back in time to make the address. He's a real good 
speaker, but he's been away for nearly three weeks and 
he won't be back till midnight to-night. 

Lorn. I'm real disappointed in the exercises, Miss 
Em. Seems they're going to be so plain. Now I 
wanted to have a parade with wagons trimmed to repre- 
sent things, and I was going to be the Goddess of Lib- 
erty and ride on the Cullen's lumber wagon with a bunch 
of the choir girls a-singin' Over There and dressed in 
cheesecloth with their hair hangin'. But the committee 
thought they knew it all, so it's just goin' to be a few 
speeches and some music by the band. Seems like it 
ain't patriotic not havin' a Goddess of Liberty, er some 
such fancy fixings. 

{Several young men enter from l. i e., cross stage 
to R. u. E. conversing in pantomime and exeunt 
R. u. E.) 

Miss Em. Them are the boys from Wilson Creek. 
Seems like every able bodied man in the county has vol- 
unteered. 

Lorn. Well, they can't say River Landing is a slacker 
town anyhow. What you got in the basket, Miss Em ? 

Miss Em (hesitates a moment). Oh, just some things, 
Lornie. I intended to give 'em to one of the boys, but 
it seems like every last one of 'em has got more'n he can 
carry now. Maybe Dan'll change his mind and vol- 
unteer at the last minute. 

Lorn. Dan? Dan who? 

Miss Em. The young fellow who boards up at our 
house. He came from Chicago to work in Mr. Eckert's 
mill and he's one of the nicest boys I ever saw. Just as 
polite to me as can be. Last week he was down sick a 
couple of days with the influenza and I took care of him, 
read to him and made him things, and we got to be 
real good friends. 

Lorn. Is he going to join the army? 



36 



OVER HERE 



Miss Em. I don't think so. I've tried to talk to him 
about it, but he don't seem interested. It's just his way, 
I reckon. You see he's an orphan and never had no' 
kith or kin since he was six years old. But I'm going 
to talk to him again. My, I'd be proud if he'd join the 
company. It 'ud kind o' make me think that I was doin' 
sump'm for my country if I could persuade him to 
volunteer. 

Lorn. You seem to take a right smart interest in him, 
Miss Em. How old is he? 

Miss Em (laughs). Oh, I'm not interested in that 
way, Lornie. I'm old enough to be his mother. He 
ain't twenty yet. 

Lorn. Well, I ain't got to the point where I can be 
interested in 'em when they're under twenty. 

Enter Liz., Tom. and Mrs. C. from l. i e. 

Miss Em. Tom, I'm awful proud of you. Your 
mother and Lizzie must be two very happy women this 
day, seeing they have such a man to give to their country. 

Mrs. C. I am. Miss Em ; it's the proudest day of my 
life. 

Liz. (after a slight pause). Proudest day of mine, 
too. 

Tom. (shakes hands tvith Miss Em). Good-bye, Miss 
Em. 

Miss Em. Good-bye, Tom, and God bring you safe 
home. 

Mrs. C. (crossing up r. zvith Tom. and Liz.). They're 
all going to meet over at the recruiting office. Don't 
you all want to come with us? 

Enter Com. from l. i e. carrying army drum. 

Com. Tommy, I want to say a word to you before 
you go. 

Tom. (comes to him at l. c). Yes, sir? 

Com. I tried to enlist, son, but they wouldn't take me. 
I'd give everything I've got to be able to march away 
with you boys to-day and do my bit fer my country. 
Everything ! Fifty-six years ago I marched away to 



OVER HERE 37 

war, jest like you all are doing to-day. And I want 
you to go, son, and do your best. (Simply.) Be 
obedient to your ojEficers, be faithful to your friends, but 
when you git close to the enemy, give 'em hell ! 

Tom. {salutes him). Believe me. Comrade Ferguson, 
those are my sentiments exactly. 

Com. I wanted to give you a little present before 
you went away. I brought it down to you. It's the old 
drum. I want y' to take it with y'. I carried it fer 
four years in the Civil War, but it's jest as good as it 
ever was. It's got new heads, but the old shell is jest 
the same and so are the rosewood sticks. It's all I got to 
give you, son, but I want y' to have it. 

Tom. {takes it). Thank you. Comrade. 

Com. The women of the community bought it fifty- 
six years ago and they presented it to the first company 
that marched away from River Landing in '6i. We've 
kep' it ever since in the Army Hall. But it plays jes' as 
good as it ever did. It ain't new like the kind they'll 
have down there at the camp, an' it ain't as fancy an' 
bright, but it's a drum that can bear testimony. It has 
been through blood and battle. It knows. 

Tom. We wxre just going over to the recruiting office 
to hear the speeches. Suppose you come along, Comrade, 
and present it to the entire company. 

Com. {trembling zvith joy). Do you think they'd care 
fer it ? 

Tom. Care for it? I should say they will. And it'll 
lead us. Comrade, into battle ; it'll lead us on to victory. 

{Takes his arm and moves toward r. u. e. ; the others 
follow. ) 

Enter Dan from post-office. 

Miss Em. Oh, there's Danny. I want to speak to 
him a while. You go long without me, Lornie. I'll be 
over pretty soon. [Others exeunt. 

Dan. Did you hear anything from the boss ? 

Miss Em. Yes, Danny, I got a telegram. He'll be 
in on the midnight train. Are you going over to hear the 
speeches ? 



^8 • OVER HERE 

Dan. Not so as you c'n notice it. I ain't got no 
use fer speeches. 

Miss Em. The boys are going to camp this afternoon 
and I thought maybe you'd Hke to see 'em off. 

Dan. Who, me? Nix on that stuff. They're all 
sore 'cause I won't enlist. 

Miss Em. Why don't you? It would make a man 
of you. 

Dan {roughly). Naw, I won't do it. A guy's a coot 
to enlist less'n he has to. What d' y' get ? Thirty dol- 
lars a month and a bed on the ground. Not me ! 

Miss Em. But all the other boys are enlisting, Danny. 
It isn't for the money. It's for their country. Folks'll 
talk if you don't join the army. 

Dan {flings himself on bench at l.). Let 'em talk. 
I don't worry about what folks say er do about me. 
What difference does it make? Nobody gives a hoot f'r 
me. Nobody 'd care whether I'd live er die. 

Miss Em {standing hack of him, places her hand on 
his shoulder). Oh, boy, Danny, don't talk that way. 
Mr. Eckert's your friend. I'm your friend. I was jest 
tellin' Miss Davis how pleased I was to have you board- 
ing at our house. 

Dan. What you tryin' to do? Git me to enlist? 

Miss Em. Not unless you want to. 

Dan. Well, I don't want to and I ain't goin' to. 

Miss Em. But your country needs you, Danny. This 
is its hour of trial, and it needs all its young men to 
volunteer. 

Dan. Well, here's one it don't get. Why should I 
do anything for my country ? Do you know how they've 
treated me? (Miss Em sits on bench by Dan's side.) 
They sent me first to an orphan asylum and then to a 
reform farm. Ten years in a reform farm. And who 
did it ? My country ! They beat me and kicked me and 
made me live like a hunted rat under the docks, and 
then when I turned out bad they threw me into prison. 

Miss Em {draws back). Prison? 

Dan {bitterly). That's right, shrink away from me. 
Folks all do. I'm like the smallpox, nobody wants any- 
thing to do with me. I ain't got a friend, I ain't got 



OVER HERE 39 

no one. I had a dog once, a starving yellow cur that I 
found in the alley. But they took it away from nie. 
They wouldn't even let me have a dog. And now you 
shrink away 'cause I'm a crook. (Fiercely.) ■ Well, 
what made me a crook? The American government. 

Miss Em. No, no, Danny. You've got it all wrong. 
The government isn't against you if you're straight. If 
you do the right thing the government will be the first 
to help you along. 

Dan. Yes, I know how they help you along. Do you 
know what they did to me? They beat me — beat me 
with an iron rod when I was sick. I wasn't seventeen 
then, but do you think I'll ever forget it? No! 
(Fiercely.) But I'll make 'em pay. I'll make 'em pay 
f'r every hour they've made me suffer. 

Miss Em. Danny, boy, you mustn't talk that way. 
You're talking about your country. It ain't right, just 
because you've had a hard life, to lay the blame on the 
government. No matter what's happened to you, they've 
tried to do the best they could. 

Dan (sarcastically). Yes, they have! 

Miss Em. You've had a hard time, boy, but so have I. 
My life has been almost as barren as yours. My folks 
lost everything they had in the Civil War, and v\^hen I 
was a young girl my lot was just as hard as any one's. 
The other girls all had their schooling and their beaux 
and good times. I had nothing but hard work in the 
mills. From sunrise till way after dark, and I wasn't 
very strong. My mother was paralyzed and I had to 
work all the time to keep her alive. Dan, I too have 
learned what it is to suffer. 

Dan. And you a woman! (Tensely.) Curse them, 
curse them, I say — with their laws and their justice. 

Miss Em (dully). I couldn't earn enough to hire a 
doctor and my mother (brokenly) she — died! Died, and 
I was all alone. Only eighteen and all alone in the world. 

Dan. I knew it. I knew you'd been through things 
like that. That's why you understand me so well. That's 
why you know how I feel. 

Miss Em. Yes, Danny, that's why. But after all 
those years of misery a great happiness came into my life. 



40 OVER HERE 

Dan (wonderingly) . A happiness? 

Miss Em. I met a young man, Danny. He was kind 
to me. (Smiles re minis cently.) I remember the first 
day I ever saw him. He was the assistant superintend- 
ent of the mills and he stopped at my loom and spoke 
to me. He was a good man, good all through. Some- 
how you remind me of him, Dan. He had eyes like 
yours and the same color of hair. (Pauses.) For a 
few months we were happy. I thought it was goin' to 
last, but it didn't (Brokenly.) He — went — away. 

Dan. And turned out bad? 

Miss Em. No, John wasn't that sort. The Spanish- 
American war broke out and he enlisted. He marched 
away with the boys — marched away — for his country 
and his flag — and there's a grave somewhere over there 
in Cuba on the San Juan Hill — only a grave and 
memories, that's all that's left to me now. 

Dan (fiercely). They took him away from you. It 
was the government 

Miss Em (interrupts). No, it was his sense of duty, 
it was the call of his country ! 

Dan (sneers). The call of his country? What does 
that mean? Only words. One country's just the same 
as another. 

Miss Em. Not when it is your native land. Don't 
you remember what it says in the poem, 

Lives there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 
" This is my own, my native land ! " 

Dan. That's what the judge said in his speech the day 
we started into the war. (Rises and crosses to c. ) 

Miss Em. See, you say the day zve started into the 
war ! You can't help it. No matter what you say or do, 
this is your own, your native land. 

Dan. I shouldn't think you'd feel that way after that 
man you was talking about went away and got killed. 

Miss Em. It was my sacrifice. I gave him up to his 
country. 



OVER HERE 4I 

Dan. But why should we give anything for our 
country? You and me, I mean. Why should / enhst? 
What has my country ever given me? What has your 
country ever given you ? 

Miss Em (rises, facing Dan). What has my country 
given me? Oh, I wish I could tell you, I wish I could 
make it clear to you. It's given me everything I've got, 
it's given me the chance to make sump'm of myself, it 
offered me an education if I could have taken it, it's 
gwen me freedom and liberty and the right to sing, 
" My Country, 'tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty ! " I 
might be poor as poverty, and uneducated and hard- 
worked, but it's my country, my native land, and I 
{Cinotionally) could take it to my breast like a child 
{hands to breast) ; I could die f'r it! 

{Arms extended. Pause.) 

Dan. It's too bad you ain't a man, Miss Em; you'd 
make a general. 

Miss Em {pathetically). But I'm only poor Em 
Finch, and I can't do nothin', I can't give nothin', I can 
only pray! If I was a man I'd follow that flag if I had 
to crawl down on my hands and knees to the enlisting 
office, I'd follow the flag of my country if it led me into 
the jaws of hell ! {Pause.) 

Dan. I don't feel that way. I can't see nothin' but 
the stone walls and the iron bars, I can't think of nothin' 
but how the government's hounded me and beat me and 
shut me up like a rat. 

Miss Em. But that's all over now. There's a new 
life ahead of you. You're only a boy and think of your 
future. Why, the army would make a man of you, it 
W'Ould open up your whole life, it would give you a 
future ! That's sump'm you didn't have the way you 
was headed. Go and talk to the enlistin' officer; he can 
explain to you better'n I can. 

Dan. Who is he? 

Miss Em. I dunno. Some one the government sent 
down here from St. Louis to take the boys to camp. 
He came yesterday. 



42 . OVER HERE 

Dan. Well, I ain't goin' to camp. They can't get 
me, so there's no use in talkin' to him. 

Miss Em. You might get to be an officer. This war 
is just as much for the poor man as it is for the rich. 
It's your chance, Danny, your big chance. 

Dan. I won't do it. No country that has buried me 
behind stone walls nearly all my life is goin' to get me 
to stand up and be shot for it. {Crosses to post-office.) 
Miss Em, you're all right, you're straight clean through, 
but I don't see things like you do, that's all. I can't 
forget, and I can't forgive. [Exit in post-office. 

Miss Em. It wasn't no use. I'm a failure. I couldn't 
persuade him to go. Seems like I can't do a thing f'r 
my country. 

Enter from r. u. e. Gary and Corporal Shannon, talk- 
ing in pantomime. Miss Em starts to enter the 
post-office. 

Gary. Good-afternoon, Miss Em. Aren't you going 
over to the exercises? 

Miss Em. No, I reckon not. I ain't got the heart. 
Judge. 

Gary. Miss Em, let me introduce Corporal Shannon. 
He's the enlisting officer. (To Shan.) This is Miss 
Finch, one of our Red Cross workers. 

Shan, (awkwardly). Pleased to meet y'. 

Gary. We're out trying to line up two or three more 
recruits. You don't know of any, do you, Miss Em? 

Miss Em. No, I can't think of any just now. 

Shan. River Landing's done pretty good as it is. I 
never seen so many volunteers for such a small place. 

Gary (looks off l. i e. ). There's that Sanderson boy 
over by the drug store. I'll have a little talk with him. 
Maybe I can add him to the list. [Exits l. i e. 

(Shan, starts to follow him, crossing to L. c. Miss 
Em conies down r. c.) 

Miss Em. Mister, can I speak to you a minute? 
Shan, (turns to her). Sure, go as far as you like. 
Miss Em. It's almost time f'r the boys to go, ain't it? 



OVER HERE 



43 



Shan. Yes'm, in about twenty minutes. We leave 
on the 4: 12 special. I suppose some of your boys are 
going away with me? 

AIiss Em (simply). No, sir, I ain't got no boys. I 
haven't any kin at all. (Sadly.) Seems like I ain't got 
anything to give to my country. And the boys a-marchin' 
away to war to-day. 

Shan. Yes, I'm taking 'em to the cantonment. 
They'll be in training there for a while and then, if we're 
lucky, we'll go across the Big Pond. 

Miss Em. You're a stranger hereabouts, ain't you? 

Shan. Yes'm. I'm from Chicago. Just detailed 
down here to escort the volunteers to camp. 

Miss Em (bashfully). I've got a little basket here, 
some cookies and jelly and chicken and things. And 
some warm socks and a muffler. (Hesitates.) I don't 
know who to give it to. You see all the River Landing 
boys have got kin- folks to provide f'r 'em, but you bein' a 

stranger (Impulsively.) Take it, boy, and God 

bless you ! 

Shan, (hesitates, takes basket slowly, then shakes 
hands with her). God bless you, too, lady. I ain't got 
no kin- folks either. When I joined the army there 
wasn't nobody to see me ofif, 'cept some of the gang. 
No women folks, I mean. Nobody's ever gave me 
nothin'. 

Miss Em. You won't think me too forward and you'll 
take 'em? 

Shan. Will I? (Enthusiastically.) Will I? 

Miss Em. And I'll think of you when you're ofif 
yonder. I'll pray for you, too. Every night, jest like I 
was your kin-folks. (Pauses, bashfully.) And mebbe, 
if it ain't too much trouble, you'd write to me. Jest a 
line er two on a post-card er sump'm, to lemme know if 
there's anything you need. 

Shan. I ain't much on writin', lady, but Gawd knows 
I'll do my best. 

Miss Em. And be a good boy. Do your work well, 
whatever you have to do. Mebbe it'll be right hard, you 
bein' so big and strong, they'll give you a man's work to 
do, but you'll do it, I know. You'll go through with it. 



44 * OVER HERE 

(SiiAN. much moved, unable to speak, grasps her hands.) 

Shan, (after a pause). Yes'ni, lady, you can trust" 
me. 

Miss Em. I got a little favor I want to ask of you. 

Shan. I'll do anything you want me to. Why, I'd 
commit murder f'r you. 

Miss Em (nervously). I've got a friend of mine here 
in town. Just a young boy who boards at my house. 
He's a good boy and just as nice as you'd meet anywhere, 
but — but he ain't enlisted. You see he don't look at 
things like you and me. Not that he's afraid — Dan ain't 
that kind, but he ain't got the right idea about some 
things, that's all. 

Shan. Why don't you talk to him? Looks like you 
could do anything with anybody. 

Miss Em. I have tried, but it didn't do much good. 
I was just thinkin' that mebbe you could see him. He'd 
listen to you, you being a soldier and an officer. And 
he comes from Chicago too. 

Shan. What do you want me to say to him? 

Miss Em. I was jest thinkin' that you might make 
him care more for things, that's all. Seems like I'd be a 
heap easier if he cared more. 

Shan. I don't get you. I don't get you at all. Cared 
more for what? 

Miss Em (simply). For his country and his flag, the 
things that are worth livin' for and worth dying' for. I 
take a heap o' interest in him, mister. Just try to make 
him see that his country needs him and, more than that, 
he needs his country. 

Shan. I'll do anything you say, lady. Maybe he 
needs a beatin' up to make him understand things. 

(Places basket on bench.) 

Miss Em. Oh, no; Dan isn't that kind. Just reason 
with him. You're a man and he'll listen to you. You 
c'n put things before him a heap better'n I can. I'll call 
him. He's over there in the post-office. Oh, if you c'n 
only make him care f'r things a little more, things like his 



OVER HERE 45 

country and his flag, it 'ud make me the happiest woman 
in River Landing. {Crosses to post-ojfice.) I'll call 
him out to you. [Exit in post-office. 

SiiAN. {grimly). I'll make him care for 'em, if I 
have to manhandle him. {Enter Dan from post-office. 
He slouches down c. Shan., turning suddenly, looks at 
him, looks closer; much surprised.) Well, fer the love 
o' Mike ! 

Dan {recognizing Shan.). Buck Shannon! 

Shan. Slink Monihan ! What are you doin' down 
here? {They shake hands heartily.) 

Dan. Nothin' much. Just mooched along till I 
landed a job here. And look at the uniform ! What are 
you, a general er sump'm? 

Shan, {proudly). I've only been in three months and 
I'm a corporal. How long you been out o' the stir ? 

Dan. Nearly a month. 

Shan. Kind o' loosened up on your time, didn't 
they? 

Dan. Yeah, I got it short f 'r good behavior. 

Shan. You? Don't make me laugh, me uniform's 
too tight. How long you been down here ? 

Dan. Three weeks. 

Shan. Didn't lose much time, did y'? How was all 
the gang up in Chi ? 

Dan. I didn't see 'em. I was only there two days. 
I couldn't spot a soul I knew. {They sit on bench at R.) 
What's become of Rat McGowan? 

Shan. Rat's in the trenches. He was one of the 
very first to go across. 

Dan. In the army? 

Shan. Sure. 

Dan. Him with two bits in the stir to his record! 

Shan. They didn't ask him his history when he 
signed his papers. And what's the difference? It'll 
make a man of him. 

Dan. Where's Nance? 

Shan. What you think? She's turned straight and 
quit the game. 

Dan {astounded). Nance? 

Shan. She's gone into trainin' as a Red Cross nurse. 



46> • OVER HERE 

I meets her on State Street the Saturday night before I 
enUsted and I give her the office, the same as you'd have 
done. And what happens ? She yanks me in a hallway 
and tells me she's straight, and that if I even as much as 
look at her ag'in she'll beat me knob in, and then she 
drills on wit' her head in the air and her eyes like blue 
coals o' fire. 

Dan. I'd never ha' believed it. And you, too, Buck. 

Shan. Sure. Y' didn't t'ink I was a slacker, did y' ? 

Dan. But how did they happen to let you join? 
Didn't they know your record? 

Shan. I went straight to 'em and told 'em what I 
was, and what I wanted to be. They knowed I was a 
ex-con, but they didn't put it down in my papers. Dis 
v^ar's turned t'ings inside out fer fair. Dey ain't askin' 
y' what y' have done, it's what y' will do ! 

Dan. But how did you ever git the idea ? 

Shan. I got it off'n Rat McGowan and Nance. Them 
joinin' the army set me thinkin'. So I went straight to 
d' police an' told 'em dat I wanted to enlist. And 
whatcha t'ink dey done? 

Dan. Pinched you? 

Shan. Nothin' like it ; dey squared it f 'r me all down 
d' line. Why, the bulls helped me. T'ink of it, the 
police a-helpin' Buck Shannon. 

Dan. Yes, but what made you do it? Thirty dollars 
a month ! What was eatin' y' ? Y' must ha' been bugs. 

Shan, {explosively). Bugs? Gawd! Wit' d' drums 
a-beatin', an' d' flags a-fl)dn', and d' band, and soldiers 
marchin' up and down d' street, and men makin' speeches 
about our flag an' our native land — what's a guy goin' 
to do? Sit at home and twirl his thumbs like a slacker — 
er shoulder a musket and go out to help his country like 
a man? 

Dan. The country ain't got no claim on me. I don't 
owe it nothin', an' I ain't got nothin' pertic'ler agin the 
Dutch. Some of 'em is aces high. 

Shan. Slink Monihan, you an' me usta be pals; if it 
wasn't f 'r that, I'd mash y', right where y' are ! So the 
Dutchies are aces high, hay? Did you ever hear of the 
Lusitaniaf 



OVER HERE 



47 



Dan. Naw, what is it ? 

Shan. It was a ship. Not a war boat, y' understand, 
but sump'ni Hke a excursion boat, and it was full of 
Americans. Not only men, but hundreds of women and 
children, some of 'em little babies. They was Americans 
and our country was at peace wit' the Dutch. And wot 
happened? They was out in the ocean one night when 
up comes one of them U-boats, straight up from hell ; it 
waved the German flag and attacked that ship and sunk 
it. Sunk it ! Men, women, children and little babies ! 
An' the U-boat went under all safe enough and wouldn't 
help none of 'em, an' they drowned, out there in the 
ocean all alone. Hundreds of 'em, little babies and 
women and all. And the U-boat makes his report to 
headquarters and the Dutch come out and say 'twas a 
big victory. That's why I'm so anxious to git over there. 
Maybe I can't do much, but I'm as good as any five of 
them baby-killers — and by Gawd, I'll make some of 'em 
pay ! 

Dan. All dat happened when I was in the stir. I 
never knowed nothin' about it. 

Shan. Then come along with us, Dan. What's the 
use of waitin' f'r the draft? Come and join the army. 

Dan. I can't do it now. Maybe I will some time, but 
I gotta little matter to straighten up first. You say 
you're goin' over there to make some of 'em pay; maybe 
I c'n make some of 'em pay over here. 

Shan. Well, every man's gotta settle it f'r himself. 
But a guy's got to fight f'r his flag, you know. It's 
worth fightin' f'r, Dan. It's worth dyin' f'r. (Pauses 
a moinent, then looks at wrist zvatch.) My time's nearly 
up. I gotta get the boys together. (Rises.) 

Dan (rises). I wish't I was goin' with you. Buck. 
Honest, I do. 

Shan. Then come on and join. 

Dan. Naw, I can't do it yet. But I'm beginning to 
look at things different. Buck. 

Shan, (takes small silk flag from pocket). Here, 
Dan, I wanta give you this before I go. We've been 
good pals and mebbe we won't ever see each other again. 
Take it, it's worth fightin' f'r, it's worth dyin' f'r. 



48 • OVER HERE 

Dan {takes flag and puts it in pocket). Much obliged, 
Buck. 

Shan. It's a great game, boy. Take a tip from me 
and get in it jes' as soon as you can. {They shake hands 
warmly. ) That's all. I gotta go and assemble the men. 
Good-bye, old pal ! 

Dan. Good-bye, Buck. Here's luck! {Exit Shan. 
R. u. E. taking basket.) Old Buck goin' to war — and 
Rat McGowan and Nance! {Takes out American flag.) 
And all f'r this. Huh, what's a flag? Only a piece of 
cloth to hang out in front of a store to draw trade. 
{Slowly.) And yet Buck said it was worth fightin' f'r, 
worth dyin' f'r. {Fiercely.) And a man who don't 
do that is a coward, a slacker. Well, I ain't a coward. 
But I gotta have a talk with Eckert. Curse him! A 
damn foreigner, livin' here — makin' money here — and 
then givin' the place the double cross. {Puts flag in 
pocket.) I gotta see him and get things straight. 

{Band music heard in the distance playing " Over 
There," zvith men singing. The music draws nearer. 
Dan crosses to l. Enter Miss Em from post-office. ) 

Miss Em. They're coming, Danny. The boys are 
marching away to war. {Joins Dan down l.) 

{Music louder. Enter all characters, except EcK., 
from R. singing " Over There." Band marches on 
with Shan, and boys. The crowd throng the stage. 
Tom. is beating the drum. Take plenty of time for 
this action and thoroughly rehearse this scene.) 

Com. {mounts bench assisted by Gary). Fellow 
citizens, more than fifty years ago the brave men and 
boys of this community went out to fight for the same 
banner that flies above us from the top of that building. 
{Points to post-office flag.) Then it was they went to 
fight their own kinsmen, their own flesh and blood. But 
now, my brothers, we are called on to fight for the old 
flag once again, not against those of our own country, 
but against a foreign foe, against an enemy that already 
is pouring shot and shell into our sacred institutions. 
And you are going forth in the young manhood of your 



OVER HERE 49 

life in the defense of your flag. Some of you have been 
a little wild, some of you maybe have bad records, but 
here's your chance to square yourselves. Here is your 
chance to show the manhood in you. No matter what 
you may have done in the past — the future rests with 
you. And we'll be proud of you. The train is waiting 
for you. I can speak no more, I can only say good-bye, 
and may God bless you each and every one who is going 
forth to follow our flag. And, though I am old in years, 
my spirit is young, and I'd give all I have to be able to 
stand once more in the ranks and do my bit for the 
star-spangled banner. Good-bye, boys, God bless you ! 
Shan. Company, attention! {Boys line tip.) For- 
ward, march ! 

(Band plays, crowd join in singing and cheering. All 
march out at r. u. e., except Dan. Dan listens as 
music dies away in the distance.) 

Dan. They got a chance to square themselves with 
their country. Buck's taken his chance and is an officer. 
He's squared himself all right (pause) and that's just 
what I'm going to do. (Takes white handkerchief that 
EcK. gave him from inside pocket, looks at it slowly, 
tears it in pieces. Drops it to floor, takes American 
flag from pocket, opens it, looks at it. Speaks slozvly.) 
This is my flag. (Pauses, looks around.) And this is 
my own, my native land ! 



SLOW CURTAIN 



ACT III 

SCENE. — The sitting-room in Eckert's house. The 
same night about ii p. m. Neatly furnished room with 
three doors, c, r. and l. Table dozvn l. c. with red 
cloth and lighted lamp on it. Sofa down r. Chairs, 
fireplace, clock, carpet, furniture, etc., at the discretion 
of the stage manager. Pictures on the wall. 

{Discovered, Miss Em seated at the table reading the 
Bible. She wears spectacles. Dan sprawled out 
on the sofa smoking a cigarette.) 

Miss Em {reading). "And Saul armed David with 
his armour. And David said unto Saul, I cannot go with 
this; for I have not tested it. And David put it from 
him. And he took his staff in his hand and chose him 
five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in a 
shepherd's bag which he had, and his sling was in his 
hand. And the Philistine drew near unto David, and 
disdained him, for he was but a youth. And the Philis- 
tine said. Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with 
staves? And the Philistine cursed David by his gods. 
Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me 
with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield; but I 
come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the 
God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. 
This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand; and 
I will smite thee, and take thine head from thee, that all 
the earth may know that there is a God in Israel. And 
David put his hand in the bag, and took thence a stone, 
and slang it, and smote the Philistine in the forehead; 
and he fell upon his face to the earth. And when the 
Philistines saw their champion was dead, they fled. . So 
David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with 
a stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him ; but 
there was no sword in the hand of David." 

50 



OVER HERE 5 I 

(Closes the book.) 

Dan. Say, he was some boy, all right. Wise guy, 
too. Just think of him soakin' that gink with a sling 
shot. 

Miss Em. It was the hand of the Lord, Danny. 

Dan. Maybe it was, Miss Em, maybe it was. But it 
was the kid who fired the stone. 

Miss Em. Even so shall we prevail against our enemy, 
for the hand of the Lord is with us, even unto the end. 

(A rap is heard at door c.) 

. Dan. What's that? 

Miss Em (calmly). Some one's at the door, Danny. 
Go and let them in. I wonder who it is at this time of 
night. 

(Dan opens the door and admits Lorn., Celia and 
a boy.) 

Lorn. Don't be scared, Miss Em, it's only us. 

Miss Em. Why, Lornie ! And Celia and Willie. 
Come right in. Take off your things. 

Lorn. Oh, we ain't makin' calls at 'leven o'clock at 
night. We just saw the light burning in your window 
and dropped in to see if anybody was sick. 

Miss Em. No, Lornie, we aren't sick. Mr. Eckert is 
coming in on the midnight train and I'm staying up to 
have his supper ready for him. He doesn't like a cold 
supper after traveling so far. 

Lorn. Well, I wouldn't set tip till midnight to get no 
man's supper, not even if he was a king askin' me to on 
his bended knees on a golden throne. I'll set down a 
spell, although it's 'leven o'clock. I'm jest too flustrated 
to stand up. (Sits at c.) 

Celia. It's so late. Miss Lornie, we'd better be 
going. (At L.) 

Miss Em (at r. c). Never mind if it is, Ceha. Sit 
down and rest a bit. 

Celia (sits at l.). Lornie wanted to stop and see if 
all was well. She thought she saw a man loitering in 
your lane. 



52 OVER HERE 

Miss Em (alarmed). A man? In our lane? 

Celia. I think it was just her imagination. 

Lorn. No 'twasn't, either. I saw him jest as plain 
as pikestaff, a-hidin' by your hedge as we crossed over 
under the arc light. 

Miss Em. I don't reckon it was a man, Lornie; 
maybe 'twas a cow or Jackson's big dog. 

Lorn. No, it wasn't. Miss Em, it wasn't a cow at all. 
He had on a hat, and cows don't wear hats, leastways not 
in River Landing, as fur as I know. 

Celia. You mustn't be frightened. Miss Em. I didn't 
see anything. 

Miss Em. Oh, I'm not frightened at all, especially 
since Danny's here. He's going over to the station with 
the surrey to meet Mr. Eckert when his train comes in. 
Well, how was the meeting? 

Lorn. Oh, it was wonderful. It was jest as inter- 
estin' as any novel book I ever read in all my life. The 
speaker was Mr. Gooseberry from Kansas City. 

Celia. Dusenberry, Lornie. 

Lorn. Well, I knew it was some kind of a berry. 
But, Miss Em, you should have been there. It got me 
so excited. He told all about the German spy system. 
(Rises.) But we ought to be goin'. 

Miss Em. Sit down a while, Lornie. Willie is going 
to see you home. And the man by the hedge won't 
catch you. 

Lorn. (sits). I was wantin' to tell you about the 
meeting. It was awful excitin'. The speaker was the 
handsomest man. He had a mustache. Looked sump'm 
like Jim Hawkins, only not so stout. 

Miss Em. What did he say about the spies? 

Lorn. I'm jest gettin' to that. He told the most 
thrillin' tale, and every word as true as Corinthians. 
And it happened only last week in an army camp some- 
where in Indiana. Them spies went right into the camp. 
Wasn't that awful ? One of 'em was a woman pretendin' 
like she was goin' to sing for the soldiers. Jest to hear 
him tell about it got me so nervous that I'm all on edge. 
He wore eye-glasses, too. 

Miss Em. What did the spies do, Lornie? 



OVER HERE 53 

Lorn. I'm jest gettin' to that. Well, this woman had 
a man with her and the oflicers showed them all over 
the camp. Jest treated her like a queen. And what do 
you think she was tryin' to do ? 

Miss Em. I'll never guess — what? 

Lorn. Tryin' to poison the soldier's bread with 
cholera morbus germans. Ain't that awful? 

Celia. Cholera germs, Miss Lornie. 

Lorn. Well, I knew it was sump'm like that. 

Miss Em. You mean to say she tried to spread the 
cholera among our boys at camp ? 

Lorn. That's jest what she tried to do. Ain't it 
awful? And her a woman, too. She tried to get the 
officer to take her in where they made the bread, but he 
wouldn't do it. Oh, the speaker got real excited when 
he told about that. He waved his hands all around. 
Did you notice, Celia, he had on a di'mond ring — and 
the whitest hands ! 

Miss Em. How did they find out she was a spy? 

Lorn. I was jest gettin' to that. She was real dis- 
appointed when she couldn't get into where they baked 
the bread. She said she'd git a permit from some of the 
higher-up officers, 'cause she wanted to see if it was 
cemetery. 

Miss Em {puzzled) . Cemetery? 

Lorn. Wasn't that the word he used, Celia? 

Celia. Sanitary, Miss Lornie. 

Lorn. I never km remember them medicated terms. 
At any rate the spies got away, and she never got near 
the bread dough to stick them cholera germans in it. 
And a great mercy it was, too. Cholery is jest awful. 
I ain't had it since I was a little girl and got into paw's 
green apple tree, but I'll never forget it to my dyin' day. 

Miss Eini. But if they got away how did the officers 
find out that they were spies? 

Lorn. I was gettin' to that. After they'd been gone 
a spell the officer began to git suspicious and looked 
around where they'd been. And whatcha think he 
found ? 

Miss Em. What? 

Lorn. A fountain pen. 



54 • OVER HERE 

Dan (siaris). A fountain pen? 

Lorn. Stuffed full of cholery germans. 

Miss Em. How could they put germs in a fountain 
pen? 

Celia. It's all true, Miss Em. They found a well 
developed growth of the germs in wet cotton on the 
inside of the fountain pen. 

Dan. But would it 'a' killed people? 

Celia. By the hundreds. It might have spread over 
the entire country. Cholera is one of the most fatal 
epidemics ever known. 

Lorn. And she was try in' to put it in the bread. 
Ain't that awful? I hope I'll never have to eat another 
piece of baker's bread as long as I'm a livin' woman. 
And her carryin' them things around in a fountain pen. 
I wonder how she squoze 'em in. What do they look 
like, Celia? Bugs er sump'm like that? 

Celia. They are too small to be seen by the human 
eye, but they are more deadly than dynamite. 

Dan. More deadly than nitro-glycerine. Them 
things are more deadly than nitro. I heard a man say 
that once. 

Miss Em. How did the officer know what they were 
when he found the pen? 

Celia. He didn't, but he carried it to a government 
chemist for examination. Then a bacteriologist ex- 
amined it and pronounced it a perfect cholera culture. 
It might have spread the plague throughout the whole 
country. 

Dan (interested). Where'd you say all this hap- 
pened ? 

Lorn. (Out in an army camp, somewhere in Indiana. 
And it was jest last week, too. (Rises.) But honest 
we can't stay another minute. Mamma don't like me to 
be out this late. She's always worryin' about me. 

Miss Em. Dan, you go down the cellar and bring up 
some sweet cider and apples for the folks. 

Celia (rises). Oh, no thank you. Miss Em. We 
must go right away. 

Miss Em. Do you want Dan to walk as far as the 
mill with you? 



OVER HERE 



55 



Celia. Oh, no, it isn't necessary at all. Willie's going 
clear home with us. 

Lorn. Well, if I see any more signs of that man 
hidin' down by your hedge, Miss Em, I'll let out a yell 
that'll scare him to Jericho. Now, Celia Baker, don't 
be tellin' me it wasn't a man, 'cause I know it was. I 
ain't a gump. I reckon I know a man when I see one. 

Miss Em (crossing to door c. zvlih them). Maybe it 
was one of the boys from the mill. Sometimes they stay 
out awful late. 

Lorn. I dunno who he was, but I know it was a man, 
and that's certain. 

Celia. Suppose it was, Miss Lornie. He won't hurt 
us. 

Lorn. You never kin tell what they'll do. I know 
this much, I won't feel safe until I'm at home in bed 
and the covers pulled up over me. And I'm going to 
look under the bed, too. (At door c. ) 

Celia. Good-night, Miss Em. We'll see you at the 
Red Cross rooms in the morning. 

[Exit door c. with Lorn, and boy. 

Miss Em (calling after them). Good-night! Can 
you see your way? 

Celia (outside). Oh, yes; there's plenty of light. 
Good-night. 

Miss Em (resuming her seat by the table). Well, 
Danny, what do you think of that spy story? I wonder 
if it actually happened. 

Dan. I'm bankin' on it. It 'ud be just like them. 
After the way they sunk that boat with them babies and 
everything, I would put nothin' past 'em. ■ 

Miss Em. Why, I am surprised. I thought you had 
nothing against the Huns. 

Dan. That was before I knowed as much as I do 
now. Do you know what I'm goin' to do, Miss Em? 
Just as soon as I get some things squared up, I'm goin' 
to enlist. 

Miss Em (delighted) . Oh, Danny, I knew^ you'd do 
it, I knew you would ! You're going to be a soldier. 

Dan (stolidly). A feller's got to do sump'm f'r his 
country, ain't he ? What's the use of being an American 



56 • OVER HERE 

at all, if you ain't willin' to fight f'r her? Might just 
as well be a Greek er a dago. 

Miss Em (standing c). Oh, Dan, you've made me so 
proud of you. Why didn't you enlist this afternoon? 
Then you could have gone away with the boys. But it 
ain't too late yet. 

Dan. I told you I had some things to square up 
first. There's sump'm I gotta settle before I c'n enlist. 

Miss Em. Maybe Mr. Eckert could look after it for 
you. I'm sure he'd be willing to. 

Dan. I reckon Mr. Eckert'U have his hands full 
lookin' after his own things. {Standing at r.) Lemme 
see, he's comin' in on the train from the north, ain't he? 

Miss Em. Yes, on the midnight train. 

Dan (carelessly) . Where's he been? 

Miss Em (resuming her seat at table, she begins to 
knit). It's funny about that. First he said he was 
going to Little Rock to see about some new milling 
machinery, but the telegram he sent to me to-day wasn't 
from there at all. 

Dan. Where was it from? 

Miss Em. Somewhere in Indiana. 

Dan (starts, then controls himself and speaks nat- 
urally). That's where them German spies was, ain't it? 
Somewhere in Indiana. 

Miss Em. Yes, but (Pauses, a look of horror 

comes into her face.) Danny, (brokenly) you — don't 

think — that — Mr. Eckert — you don't think he Oh, 

Danny, why do you look like that? Do you think 

(Pauses.) 

Dan. I don't think nothin'. 

Miss Em. Mr. Eckert isn't a spy, Danny. Of course 
his folks were Germans, but he's a naturalized citizen. 
And he's real patriotic. Makes speeches and donations 
and everything. Maybe he had some business up there 
in Indiana. 

Dan (grimly). I reckon he did. He wouldn't go up 
there on a Sunday School excursion, er anything like 
that, would he? (Slowly.) But I wonder what his 
business was. 



OVER HERE 



57 



Miss Em. He often takes long trips away from 
home. Last Christmas he was up in Chicago visiting 
his sister. 

Dan. In Chicago, eh? 

(Pronounce "eh" to rhyme with may.) 

Miss Em. He .told me all about her. She's the 
private secretary for one of the big college professors 
up there. He often goes up to visit her. Sometimes 
they take trips together. 

Dan {looks at clock). It's pretty near time for the 
train, ain't it? 

Miss Em. Yes, if it's on time, it ought to be here in 
about twenty minutes. The rig is hitched out in front 
all ready for you. {Pause. Miss Em suddenly speaks.) 
Listen ! 

Dan. What's the matter? 

Miss Em {speaks unconsciously in a whisper). I 
thought I heard sump'm. Didn't you? 

Dan {pauses a moment listening). Naw, I don't hear 
nothin'. What did it sound like? 

Miss Em. Like some one on the back porch. It 
sounded like a step or sump'm. 

Dan {crosses to door r., looks out). I guess it wasn't 
anything. That lady who thought she saw a man hiding 
by the hedge — she got you all excited. Who'd be on the 
back porch at this time o' night in River Landing? 

Miss Em {nervously). I don't know. I'm sure I 
heard it. But maybe it was the cat. 

Dan. I'll take a look. {Goes to r.) 

Miss Em. Oh, Danny, be careful. Maybe it is some 
one. Take the lantern anyway. It's on a nail at the head 
of the cellar stairs. Maybe you'd better turn on the 
kitchen light. 

Dan. And give him a chance to make a getaway? 

Miss Em. Then you think it is some one? 

Dan. That's what I'm going to find out. Don't worry 
about the light, I'm used to workin' in the dark. And 
don't get scared. Chances are there ain't no one there 
at all. 



58 * OVER HERE 

Miss Em. Maybe I'd better go with you. 

{Crosses to r. ) 

Dan. No, you stay right here. There ain't nothin' 
goin' to hurt me. [Exits R. 

{Pause. Miss Em remains perfectly still watching 
door at r. Hold this picture while one with mod- 
erate haste might count forty. This is an excellent 
stage effect and keys the audience for the dramatic 
scene to follow. To shorten the pause at this point 
woidd he almost fatal to the climax of the play. 
Finally a door is heard to slam, off r. ) 

Miss Em. Is that you, Danny? 

Dan (off stage at r. ). Yes, it's all right. ■ 

Enter Dan from r. 

Miss Em. Didn't you see anything? 

Dan. Not a thing. No one out there. I went all 
around the house. It must have been the cat. 

Miss Em. Was the rig out in front? 

Dan. Yes, that's all right. 

Miss Em. Then you'd better be startin' for the depot. 
It's almost train time. 

Dan. I kind o' hate to go down there and leave you 
here all by yourself. 

Aliss Em. Oh, I'm not afraid, Danny. (Pauses, 
then speaks tremulously.) That is, not very much. 

Dan (slips on cap and coat). You'd better go up- 
stairs to bed. And lock yourself in. 

Miss Em. Oh, no. Why, what would Mr. Eckert 
say? 

Dan. Don't worry about that. He'll have other 
things to think about. I'm going to have a talk with him. 

Miss Em. His supper is all on the table, except the 
meat. That's in the fireless cooker. 

Dan. I'll give it to him. You go on to bed. 

Miss Em. I believe I will. (Crosses to l.) 

Dan. And lock your door. 

Miss Em. I will. Good-night, Danny. 



OVER HERE 59 

Dan. Good-night, Miss Em. 

Miss Em. Rest well, Dan, and remember that I'm 
awfully proud of my boy. Good-night. {Exits at l. 
Dan pauses. He stands at c, takes revolver from his 
pocket, opens it and examines it carefully, smiles slowly 
and replaces it in his pocket. Take plenty of time for 
this action. Dan bloivs out the light and exits door c. 
The stage is in total darkness. Dan has been whistling 
softly zvhen looking at revolver and continues after he 
leaves the stage, the zvhistle dying away in the distance. 
Pause, while one might count twenty. The door c. opens 
and Gary enters carrying a darkened flash-light. The 
audience must not recognize him. When he is at c. he 
flashes light around, but is carefid not to allow it to shine 
on himself. He crosses to door r. and exits r. Miss 
Em after a pause is heard speaking off l. ) Danny, is 
that you? (Pause.) Danny! (Enter Miss Em from 
L. carrying a lighted lamp. She is somezvhat frightened. 
She looks all around the room, then crosses to r. and 
exits slowly at r. Pause. Reenter Miss Em from r. 
after the pause.) I'm nervous to-night, I reckon. I 
keep thinking I'm hearing things. Lornie's story about 
the man hidden in the hedge has got me all on edge. 
(Crosses to l.) I wonder what Mr. Eckert was doing 
up in Indiana. (Yazvns.) I hope I can get to sleep. 

[Exits L. 

EcK. (heard outside door c). What's the matter 
with the lights? The house is as dark as a tomb. 

Dan (outside door c). That's all right. Here we 
are. 

Enter Eck. and Dan from door c. 

EcK. Light the lamp. (Dan does so.) Where's 
Miss Em? 

Dan. I told her she could go to bed ; she wasn't feel- 
ing well. 

Eck. So? And she is now taking orders from you, 
yes? 

(Eck. removes coat and hat, hangs them up; puts 
grip beside them.) 



60 • OVER HERE 

Dan. What d' you want to do? Have her stay up 
when she's sick? 

EcK. Is there anythhig to eat? 

Dan. Yes, she got your supper in there on the table. 

EcK.' (conies down r.). The train made good time 
to-night. She generahy is late. Did they put the horse 
in the barn? 

Dan. Yeah, they got the rig all right. 

EcK. {sits at ^.). I'm tired. Everything went wrong. 
Nothing came out like I hoped it would. Blunders, 
blunders in all directions. We've had all our work for 
nothing. 

Dan {down c). What work? 

EcK. Ah, never mind. To you it is no difference. 
To me, maybe it means more weeks of preparation, but 
success will come at last. That's it, my boy, success 
always comes to the patient, willing worker. Was there 
any mail for me personally ? 

Dan. Naw, only for the mill. It's over at the office. 

EcK. No telegrams? 

Dan. Nothin' like that. 

EcK. No one to see me? 

Dan. Farmers and drummers. The usual folks. 

EcK. Well, that is good. Things might be much 
worse. They're bad enough up north. 

Dan. Where have you been? 

EcK. {looks at him sharply). I had to go up in In- 
diana on business. Yes, I had some dealings up in 
Indiana. But it was rotten luck. 

Dan. I should think you'd be glad of anything that 
'ud take you out of River Landing. 

EcK. You don't like River Landing, eh? That's 
good— that makes things work out easier, for to-morrow 
I send you away. 

Dan. You can't send me away too fast to suit me. 
What's the game? Where do you want me to go? 

EcK. How would you like to make a short trip to 
Chicago for me? Eh? Just a little pleasure trip. 

Dan. That 'ud suit me all right. 

{Sitting at c, by table.) 



OVER HERE 6 I 

EcK. I would want you to see my friend the Herr 
Professor. He'll probably send you back here in a 
day or two with another little package for me. 

Dan. Aw, no he won't. Nothin' like that. 

EcK. He won't? What do you mean? 

Dan. I mean I ain't comin' back to River Landing no 
more. I'll have other things to do when I get to Chicago. 

EcK. (rises). You mean that you would refuse to 
obey the Professor? 

Dan (rises). That's just exactly what I mean. I'm 
done carrying fountains from Chicago. I don't like the 
job; it's too dangerous. Get me? I'm done ! 

EcK. (goes to him). You say that the job is too 
dangerous? What do you mean by that? (Grasps his 
arm.) How can a fountain pen be dangerous? Give 
me an explanation. 

Dan (jerks away from him, crosses to l. of table). 
I told you when I came down here that I wanted to 
know the whole game. All of it, from deuce to ace. 

EcK. You already know more than is good for you. 
There is no reason why you should know too much. All 
you have to do is to obey your superiors. 

Dan. I'm done with all that. From now on I won't 
take orders from you er any of your friends. Get me? 
I'm done. 

EcK. Nonsense. We are your friends and we'll 
stand by you. You can be very useful to us. To-morrow 
you go back to the Herr Professor. 

Dan. To-morrow I'm goin' to Chicago all right, but 
I've scratched the Herr Professor off'n my list. I'm 
done wit' him, and I'm done wit' you. 

EcK. (furiously, through clenched teeth). You mean 
that you are going to quit us? 

Dan. That's it. 

EcK. But what do you intend to do? You can't get 
a position anywhere, you said that yourself. Every one 
is against you ; what are you going to do ? 

Dan (proudly). I'm going to do what I'd orter done 
weeks ago. I'm goin' to enlist in the army. 

EcK. Enlist ? 

Dan. Dat's what I said. You say everybody's 



62 * OVER HERE 

\ 

against me and dat nobody'll gimme a job. You're 
wrong. Uncle Sam ain't against me, he'll gimme a job! 
(Pause.) I'm goin' to do just like the other young 
fellers all over the country is doin'. I'm goin' to follov^ 
the flag! 

EcK. (close to him, sneers in his face). Follow the 
flag? What flag? You haven't any flag — you haven't 
any country. Your very words to me. What flag? 

Dan. You know what flag. I thought I didn't have 
a flag ner a country, but I was wrong, dead wrong. This 
is my own, my native land, and its flag is worth fightin' 
for, it is worth dyin' for. 

EcK. The country that imprisoned you — the govern- 
ment that has hounded you all your life — that shut you 
up like a rat — that beat you with an iron bar. Have you 
forgotten all that? 

Dan. No, I ain't forgotten it. I can't forget it. But 
that's all over now. What is done is done. The past is 
all over, but I've got the future before me. If I go out 
there and fight, I'm as good as any of 'em. It's took me 
a long time to find out where I'm at, but at last I know. 
I'm an American, I am, and I'm going to stand by the 
flag. 

EcK. (sneers). A fine American! You will betray 
America even as now you are trying to betray us. Once 
a traitor always a traitor. 

Dan. I ain't a traitor. I'm just through with you, 
that's all. I ain't goin' to stay with a bunch that is agin 
my country. 

EcK. (loses control of himself and speaking loudly). 
Your country, your country. Always your country ! 
Grr! 

Dan (sincerely). Yes, always my country! 

EcK. Words, words, that's all it means to you — 
words. Was it the American flag or the American gov- 
ernment that got you released from prison? No! They 
sent you there and held you there, but it was the long 
arm of the Prussian government that opened the doors of 
freedom for you. It was the Herr Professor. Suppose 
he had kept silence, where would you be now? Answer 
me ! 



OVER HERE 63 

(Swings Dan around to face him; they are now l. of 
table. ) 

Dan. I ain't denyin' it ; I'd still be in the stir. 

EcK. And now you'd be like the snake in the story, 
you'd sting the hand that gave you freedom! 

Dan {jerks away from him, crosses to r. c). Say, 
what's the use of fussing about it? I've made up my 
mind and I'm goin' to enlist That's finished. But I 
ain't a squealer. You needn't be afraid I'll go back on 
your bunch. If any one asks me about you, I don't 
know nothin'. But I ain't in the game no more. From 
now on, I'm going straight! 

EcK. {crosses to him). You say you'll not go back on 
our bunch. Good! Then join the army, enlist just as 
soon as you like. But no matter what you do, no matter 
where you are, you are one of us ! We need men in 
the army. It would be a good thing for you. A com- 
mission, maybe, and much money, but you are one of us ! 

Dan. I ain't. I'm an American. I ain't a-goin' to 
be mixed up with you. I tell you I'm goin' straight. 

EcK. {angrily). You are. Straight to the Professor 
in Chicago. He's the man to deal with you. 

Dan. Naw, I won't do it. I've been a crook all my 
life, maybe, but there's some things that even a crook 
won't do. 

EcK. What harm is there in bringing me a little 
present from my friend in Chicago ? What harm is there 
in a fountain pen? 

Dan {scornfully). Say, whatcha think I am? I 
know what was in that fountain pen. I'm wise all right, 
and what's more I know what you tried to do with it. 

EcK. {alarmed). What do you mean? 

Dan {bravely facing him). I mean that I'm wise to 
you and your whole bunch. They're black, Eckert, black 
clean through. I mean that you wouldn't stop at nothin'. 
That you'd just as soon poison a whole army as look at 
'em. That if you could you'd spread the cholera from 
one end of the country to the other. (Eck. starts.) 

EcK. Cholera? 

Dan. Oh, I know what was in the pen all right. 



64 OVER HERE 

Cholera germs. Enough to start the disease in the camp, 
enough to spread it everywhere, enough to kill a million 
men. 

EcK. (livid with rage, seises Dan, clenches with him, 
finally gets him by the throat, forcing Dan to his knees). 
You dog ! You water rat ! Jail bird ! Prison scum ! 
{As he forces Dan to knees.) Traitor! {Strangling 
him.) I'll show you how we use traitors. You know 
too much. But I'll show you, I'll show you ! 

(Dan reaches in his pocket, draws revolver, pushes it 
upzuard against Eck.'s stomach.) 

Dan. Drop me, drop me, er I'll fire. {Pushes Eck. 
back with gun, rises.) You try to manhandle me and 
you'll never leave this room alive. (Eck. recoils to r. ; 
Dan takes c.) I know you, and I'm heeled f'r you, 
that's all. 

Eck. {zuith hands up). What would you do? Mur- 
der me? 

Dan. That wouldn't be a bad idea, would it? You 
tried to spread the cholera in an army camp ; that was 
worse'n murder, wasn't it? Murder by the wholesale. 

Eck. This is your gratitude, then, for all we have 
done for you. We took you out of prison 

Dan. I'm going away from here to-morrow and start 
my life all over again. I don't even want to think of 
what I've had to go through. But I'll keep still, as far 
as you and your gang are concerned, I won't blow. Not 
unless you start some more of your dirty work, then 
watch out ! 

Eck. You threaten me? You dare? 

Dan. You bet I do. If there's any more of that 
cholera spreadin', well, you'll get yours, and you'll get it 
straight from me. 

Eck. (sneers). You? What could you do? 

Dan. You'll find out. If you or your gang do any- 
thing else crooked against the army of the United States, 
I'll go to the head officer of the camp and tell him who 
it was that lost the fountain pen up there in Indiana. 

Eck. But who'd believe you? A homeless wharf- 



OVER HERE 65 

rat, a jail-bird from the slums of Chicago. Suppose you 
went to the otiicers. Who'd believe you? 

Enter Gary from r., quietly. 

Gary. I would. {Covers them zvith revolver; they 
slink to C.) Just keep him covered, my boy, while I 
slip these little bracelets on his wrist. 

EcK. Curse you, what are you doing in my house? 

Gary. Just a little missionary w^ork for Uncle Sam. 
I've been looking for you for a long time, Rudolf Eckert. 
{Handcuffs him.) And to think I'd run across you in 
my old home town. 

EcK. You've got nothing on me. You can't hold 
me. The authorities shall hear of this. 

Gary. The authorities have already heard of it. 
You probably forget that I represent the authorities. 

EcK. But of what am I accused? 

Gary. I overheard your entire conversation with this 
boy. I was hidden in the closet by the cellar stairs. I 
knew all about the little fountain pen story and we've 
been hunting over the entire country to find the perpetra- 
tors of such a fiendish crime. The sheriff is waiting 
outside by the hedge. You'd better tell your young friend 
good-night and come along with me. 

EcK. He's in it as much as I am, the young fiend. 
If I have to go to prison, it will be some comfort to know 
that you {to Dan) will go with me. 

Gary. I'm really sorry, Eckert, but I'll have to de- 
prive you of even that comfort. This young man is go- 
ing to join the army, I believe. 

Enter Miss Em from l. 

Miss Em. Mr. Eckert, I thought I heard sump'm. 
Is anything w^rong? 

Gary. Not at all, Miss Em. Things have been 
wrong, but thanks to this young chap, they're beginning 
to go right again. 

Dan {to Gary). Then you think they'll gimme a 
chance in the army, do you, mister? I'll try awful hard. 

Gary. • Give you a chance? Why, my boy, we'll all 



66 , OVER HERE 

be proud of you yet. But my friend, the sheriff, is 
waiting for us. Come along, you ! Good-night, Miss 
Em. Good-night, young man. If you need a recom-- 
mendation at the army headquarters just call on me. 
That's all. {He leads Eck. out at door c.) 

Miss Em. Dan, Dan, Avhat does it all mean? Was 
the judge arrestin' Mr. Eckert? 

Dan. Looked kinder like it. 

Miss Em. What on earth for? What's he been doing 
up in Indiana? 

Dan. I dunno as the judge 'ud want me to say. 
Maybe he'll tell you himself in the morning. (Yawns.) 
Gee, this has been a strenuous day, all right, all right ! 

Miss Em. And all that nice supper is in there on the 
table. 

Dan. Supper? Let's go in and sample it, Miss Em. 
I'm holler clean down to my toes. I'm goin' away to- 
morrow and there ain't no tellin' when I'll get another 
meal like you can cook. 

Miss Em. Goin' away, Danny? 

Dan. Yep, goin' to join the army. Goin' to show 
'em that I got some good in me after all. I'm goin' to 
try and do sump'm for my own, my native land. 
{Changes tone.) But now let's eat. 

( They move toward l. entrance as the curtain falls. ) 



CURTAIN 



JOINT OWNERS IN SPAIN 

A Comedy in One Act 

By Alice Brown 

Four female characters. Costumes, modern; scenery, a single easy in. 

terior. Plays twenty minutes. A very humorous sketch of high literary 

quality by a well and widely known author ; an almost guaranteed success 

in performance. Has been produced at The Bijou Dream, Boston, and at 

The Little Theatre, Chicago, and can be recommended without reserve. 

Its slory is told of three old inmates of an Old Ladies' Home, and grows 

out of the clash of their elderly eccentricities. Royalty, i5!5.oo a performance. 

Price, 2^ cents 

CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Mitchell, a Director of the Old Ladies Home, 

Mrs. Fullerton 1 

Miss Dyer I himates oflhe Home. 

Mrs. Blair ] 

THE CHRISTENING ROBE 

A Comedy in One Act 
By Aftfie L. Estabrook 
One male, three female characters. Scenery, an easy interior; cos- 
tumes, modern. Plays thirty-five minutes. A humorous and entertain- 
ing piece for four Irish characters in the style of the well-known plays of 
Lady Gregory ; a seriously intended picture of Irish character, not a 
travesty of it. Nora Mulvey lends the robe that her husband's sister, 
Sarah, has given her for her baby's christening, to Mrs. Leahy, and hei 
husband, Barty, has pawned it for drink; upon this basis is cleverly built 
a little domestic comedy full of humor, pathos and character. Strongly 
recommended. Performance free. 

Price, 2^ cents 

CHARACTERS 

Nora Mulvey. Mrs. Ryan, Nora's mother. 

Patrick Mulvey, Noras ^Kv.h^lA\iv.\^\, Patriclt s sister, 

husband. 

AMERICA PASSES BY 

A Play in One Act 

By Kenneth Andrews 
Two male, two female characters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, an 
easy interior. Plays thirty minutes. Originally produced by the Harvard 
Dramatic Club, April I2, 19 16, with success. A comedy of high class 
that can be strongly recommended. The story of a little love affair 
that flourished in the romantic atmosphere of Japan, but that, trans- 
planted to prosaic Chicago, withers and dies. Good character drawing 
and strong dramatic interest. Royalty, ^5.00 a performance. 
Price, 2^ cents 

CHARACTERS 
A Young Man. His Fiancee. 

A Young Husband. His Wife. 



THE CAMP-FIRE GIRLS 

A Comedy in Four Acts 

By Walter Ben Hare 

Fifteen female characters and seven children who do not speak. Scenery, 
one interior and two exteriors; costumes modern and Indian. Plays a full 
evening. An admirable vehicle for spreading the principles of this help- 
ful order as well as an interesting and eftective entertainment suitable for 
any occasion. Peggy Malone, the little drudge, is a part of enormous 
sympathy; Zingara, the gypsy, very picturesque and dramatic; and 
Mollie Mealy, the old maid, a scream. Very strongly recommended. 
Price, 2S cents 

CHARACTERS 
Peggy Malone, a little drudge. 
Mrs. Bacon, a boarding-house keeper. 
Beulah Marie, her daughter, aged seventeen. 
Miss Henrietta Dash, a newspaper reporter. 
Miss Mollie Mealy, an old tnaid, so sentimental. 
Miss Lee, the guardian of the camp. 
Zingara, a wandering gypsy. 
Neeta, a little gyPsy song-bird. 
Nell Mason 
Margery Gilmore 
Betty Thurston 

Nan Lester \ Camp-Fire Girls* 

Melissa Hicks ' 
Doris Gray 
Phyllis Marvin 

SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAMMES 

Act I. Christmas day in a boarding-house. The poor little 
drudge. Beulah entertains the camp. Peggy dreams. 

Act H. The dreain. The Princess Pocahontas. 

Act in. Same as Act L The awakening. Her cup of misery. 

Act IV. A gypsy camp. The Carnegie medal. Happiness 
at last. 



OUR BOYS 

A Comedy in Three Acts 

By H. J. Byron 

A new edition of this evergreen comedy, reprinted from an acting copy 

and containing all the " gags " and stage business employed in professional 

performances of the piece, arranged for amateur production by Frank W. 

Fowle, following the traditions of the Boston Museum. Starting with a 

run of more than 1,500 nights in its original production, no existing play 

has had a larger or more universal success in the theatre than this. Very 

easy to produce and a sure hit in amateur theatricals. 

Frice, ij cents 



V" 



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